


Heart of a Thief

by a_bowl_of_peaches



Category: Sly Cooper (Video Games)
Genre: (just in the first few chapters), (not as bad as I'm making it sound), Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, F/M, Family Feels, Lots of OCs - Freeform, Multi, Team as Family, each chapter will have its own warnings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-03 21:38:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 105,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4115809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_bowl_of_peaches/pseuds/a_bowl_of_peaches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sly tells the truth, Carmelita's broken heart hurts more than herself, the Cooper Gang is reunited, and the Cooper family tree has more leaves than previously thought.<br/>A newcomer emerges from the shadows, and a forgotten line makes itself known to the world.</p><p>A rewrite of Sly Cooper: Thieves in Time with the addition of Cooper ancestor original characters and a few modern OCs.<br/>I'll do my best to update every week (most likely on Fridays; updates will come more quickly in the beginning since I have so much written already). Feel free to leave comments and give feedback.</p><p>Shout out to my badass beta, wawonaninja! I would have given up long ago without you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Spilled Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: character experiencing an anxiety attack, emotional abuse
> 
> Translations:  
> (none, carry on)
> 
> The breathing technique Sly uses is one I myself use; I found it on tumblr, but I don't remember who posted it.

* * *

 

         It began with coffee.

         Sly traced a pattern in the steam coiling from his mug with his eyes, aimlessly roving over the white tendrils. It mirrored how he felt: a little foggy, a little off his game. He wrapped his hands around the warm ceramic, staring into the black depths of his coffee. He didn’t even like coffee; it always left him with a jittery twitch in his hands and a bitter taste on his tongue. He had poured it for himself out of reflex when he made Carmelita’s drink- the vixen was a coffee fiend from her years of stakeouts and had tried to convince him he was one too. Mostly, he drank the black beverage just to humor her.

         It was just another lie to add to the ever-growing list.

         He let out a heavy sigh, watching the steam bend and sway under his breath. Lies were commonplace in his new life as Constable Cooper, but they were starting to pick at his conscience, even the small ones. Carmelita should have told him the truth, but he had given her the window of opportunity and this was what he wanted: the chance to be with her. If they had to lie to achieve that much….

         He shook his head. Everything was wrong. Relationships weren’t based on lies, but on truth, and the only truth they had was the one where they had agreed they were in love.

         It was sad, really. They knew things about each other (favorite music, books, art, the like), as a result of years and years of dancing around each other. The only thing different about this relationship was the absence of the shock pistol and a little more kissing.

         He thought to last night, tapping his fingers against the warm ceramic. In the moment, it had been blissful, for both of them, as it usually was. He could fool himself into thinking everything was perfect when he stroked and kissed along her body, listening to her murmur lovingly to him in Spanish. Thinking about it in the aftermath? Not so much. It was more painful and awkward than he cared to admit, knowing he was taking advantage of her in such an intimate way.

         A shadow flicked at the edge of his vision and he looked up to see Carmelita stumbling from the bedroom, eyes barely open.

         _‘Speak of the devil,’_ he thought, only she looked more like an angel to him, her curls mussed and her fur ruffled, walking toward him in a silky pink nightgown and nothing else. She had been taking to wearing more feminine nightwear as of late, enticing him to the bed at night with scraps of lace and delicate bows.

         “Morning,” he greeted softly, nodding her toward the mug he had set out. The vixen grunted and he hid a smile in the rim of his cup as he took another not-sip. Carmelita wasn’t, and would never be, a morning person.

         Half a cup of coffee later, the dregs of sleep cleared from her face and she flicked her tail with a satisfied sigh, eyes clear and bright as she looked to him. She was quick, though, to frown at the sight of him so pensive.

         “Are you ok?”

         “What?” He looked away from the window, one ear up and the other pointed away. Carmelita’s warm weight dropped next to him, her hips turned to his thigh, and he responded with a small smile and a hand on her back.

         “I asked if you were ok.”

         “Yeah,” he sighed, resting his head against the crook of her neck. “I’m just tired. I’ve had… a lot on my mind lately.” The vixen rubbed his shoulder, squeezing his bicep.

         “Care to share?” she prodded.

         “Not really.”

         “Why not?”

         “Because I just want to sit here with you without it becoming an interrogation,” he answered, lifting his head. “Please.”

         “…All right,” she conceded. He breathed a soft “thank you,” relaxing again as quiet spread between them.

         There was often quiet between them. Silence was probably a better term, because quiet suggested something comfortably and easy. It wasn’t. It was oppressive and nerve-wracking, both unsure of what they could talk about because there were so many “unsafe” topics they had nonverbally agreed upon.

         Sly could see it making Carmelita uncomfortable, her eyes dancing around the room, her ears set at an unhappy angle. She was naturally suspicious, always analyzing and observing, but never voicing what she found if she dared to look too closely.

         It made him sigh, rubbing a hand down her back. He was almost certain she knew about his ploy, but liked what they had too much to shatter the delicate façade and had herself convinced it was nothing.

         He took a gulp of the now cold coffee, easily hiding a grimace as the bitter liquid coated his tongue and made its way down his throat. Carmelita, reassured by this shred of what to her was normalcy, got up. He took the opportunity to shudder, setting the drink down on the low table in front of him as if the distance would make him feel better. He propped his chin up on his hand and his elbow on the arm of the couch, staring down at the mug with unhappy eyes.

         “I really hate coffee.”

         It took him a moment to realize that his thought had managed to slip out his mouth without him noticing, but its affect on Carmelita was instantaneous.

         Her mug shattered on the wood floor, black splashing over the edge of the carpet.

         _“What?”_ Her voice was strident and terrified, like she had learned he had killed someone. Sly could only blink, stunned by the force of her reaction. “But you’ve always liked it!”

         “I… guess I grew out of it,” he replied, dropping his gaze. Her coffee was starting to seep into the carpet, staining the fabric black. Finding his feet, he stood, wondering if it was safe to walk past her to get a rag. Deciding to take the chance, he walked past her. She remained frozen. He got a dishtowel and bent to mop up the spill. Nothing.

         He was getting back to his feet, folding the cloth around the shattered pieces of ceramic, when her hand darted out and seized his arm. Her nails dug into his bicep.

         “You’ve always liked it,” she whispered. He felt like he had dropped a bomb on her entire world, all because he told the truth to one insignificant lie.

         She was more deeply invested in those lies than he realized.

         “Carmelita,” he tried. She was still dazed with horror, eyes on him, but not seeing him. Or maybe seeing too much of him. “Carmelita, you’re hurting me.” He nodded to her grip on his arm and she yanked her hand back; the crescents of her nails tingled unpleasantly.

         “…We should get going,” the vixen told him, snapping out of her daze. She brushed passed him and to the bedroom, returning fully dressed in her new ensemble: a skimpy bustier and a hip-hugging mini-skirt with a pair of heeled boots. She snatched up her jacket, tugging it on. “We’re going to be late.”

         “Right,” Sly intoned, throwing out the shattered mug and putting his badge on like a man would put on a noose. He smiled without the usual luster in his eyes as he held open the door for her.

         The drive over to the precinct was, at best, the most uncomfortable experience of Sly’s life. Carmelita’s arms were rigid and straight as she gripped the steering wheel, gloves stretched over her knuckles as she clenched her fingers. She didn’t look at him when they drove, when they got out, or when they walked in, marching five steps ahead of him with her heels clacking in short staccato beats.

         It reminded him of gunfire.

         “Winthorp, do I have any paperwork?” the vixen snapped at her assistant as she burst into her office. The weasel, in the midst of putting a vase with a tiny drooping daisy on her desk, let out a startled squeak, knocking it over. Thankfully, the vase was plastic and didn’t break.

         “Uh, Inspector Fox!” He saw Sly, standing just inside the doorway, and his face twisted. “And Constable Cooper.”

         “Paperwork, Winthorp,” Carmelita reminded him, hands on her hips. The detective shook his head.

         “No, I already took care of it,” he told her. She gave a short nod, stalking back out of the room.

         “I’m going to go get some practice in at the range.” And she slammed the door behind her and marched off down the hall, her shoes chattering away.

         “Good morning, Detective Winthorp.” Sly bent to pick up the vase and the daisy, handing them back to the weasel.

         “Constable,” the detective replied in a clipped voice. Maybe he thought he was hiding his animosity well or maybe he wasn’t even bothering to try. Sly couldn’t bring himself to care, lingering on the morning’s catastrophe. “You still haven’t finished those reports from your last three cases. I need them.”

         “I’ll get right on it.” He walked out of the office. It had been like he had shot her; he could almost appreciate the irony. “Have a good day, Winthorp.”

         A chunky rat stared at him from the communal coffee machine when he passed. A Doberman growled when his tail brushed the corner of his desk. Sly had grown accustomed to the treatment he got from the Interpol officers. Some were cold and openly hostile, others, like Winthorp, barely tolerating his presence. Others watched him like they could hardly believe he was there, stuck in various stages of shock. They rarely spoke to him because he had humiliated them on more than several occasions, and Chief Barkley had ordered them to avoid “jogging his memory.” The badger knew he was more valuable to them as a constable than a criminal, and made every effort to exploit the new relationship he had with the department. With his help, their division had taken five names off Interpol’s most wanted list, from mafia heads to drug cartel operators.

         Sly could remember a time when he and his gang had taken out more than five master criminals in a matter of months.

         He sat down at his desk, pulling out the manila folders he had been ignoring every day. As he stacked them in a pile, he noticed something sticking out from under his blotter. Leaning back and checking to make sure no one was eyeballing him to closely, he slipped it free. It was an envelope, printed neatly with his name and nothing else.

         Curious, he opened it. There was no powder, no suspicious beeping, so he pulled out a piece of paper and unfolded it, smoothing the creases with his thumb.

         It was a letter.

         From Bentley.

         _“Dear Sly,”_ it read. The voice in his head became nasally and high, that of a brother. _“I can hardly believe it’s been almost two years since we took back the Cooper Vault. Time sure flies, or maybe it doesn’t. I guess it depends on whom you ask._

_Penelope and I have been great. It’s so refreshing to have someone to work with projects on who actually knows what I’m talking about (I appreciate the effort you and Murray put in, though). She seems a bit restless lately. I think she wants me to propose, and I think I’m going to._

_Murray was in pro-racing for a bit, but he ran out of sponsors. He caused too many crashes, which is so like him. He’s a champion in demo-derby now, and he totally loves it. He gets paid to smash everyone and everything he can._

_Jing King finally found someone her dad approves of- a yellow-throated marten named Maylin. Jing met her, of all places, at a fireworks festival. Panda King sent me a picture of their wedding from last spring. I heard they’re planning on having a kid soon. The thought of Panda King being a grandfather is terrifying though._

_Dimitri is… Dimitri. I won’t hear from him for a month and then he’s sitting in the living room, giving me fashion tips like we just talked yesterday. From what I heard, he’s opened up a new club in the city and it’s already gotten the highest ratings from the local critics._

_The Guru is in New York, from what Murray told me. I guess he’s hiding out there after he had a celebrity learning under him and the paparazzi caught wind. I get these weird dreams sometimes, and I’m pretty sure they’re from him. I would love to know how he does it, but I don’t think I’ll ever figure it out._

_Well, that about covers it for us. I would ask you to write me back, but I know you’re ‘retired’ right now, so I won’t risk it. I couldn’t help but send a quick letter. I miss you, pal, but I understand why you did what you did._

_Wishing you the best,_

_The Wizard.”_

 

         Two years.

         Sly sat back in his chair at the realization, dazed.

         He’d been away from his life, his friends, his family, for almost two years. He gripped his desk, feeling dizzy and a little queasy.

         Had it really been barely _two years?_

         No… No, it wasn’t possible. Time would have had to _crawl_ to only have traveled so short of a distance. It should have flown in his new life, light and free, not trudged like it was in chains. He was happy, and time went by fast when people were happy. It was, like, a proven fact of science. Surely Bentley said longer and he just read it wrong. It must have been a full two years at least, or maybe almost three.

         He reread the letter, checked his calendar, and read it again.

         Only nineteen months.

         “I don’t feel well,” he told Winthrop as the weasel passed his desk, grabbing his coat and yanking it on. “Tell Carmelita I headed back home.”

         “You just got here. What about your reports?” the detective demanded.

         _‘Damn the reports!’_ he wanted to shout, but he pretended to have no heard instead. He strode through the hall with single-minded intent, keeping his head down, avoiding the suspicious eyes following him. He flung open the doors and stepped out into the morning air, already warm under the bright sun.

         If it was so warm, why did he feel so horribly cold?

         He wove through the crowds of people and ran through alleys when he could take them. Dread pressed down on him like a blanket, his chest tight and thoughts filled with some unnamed urgency, sending them racing through his mind before he could catch them. One thought was louder than the rest.

         _‘Go home, find home, you have to get home! You’ll be safe there. You will be able to breathe and think and get a grip.’_

         The trip through the narrow streets of Paris passed by him in a blur; he was neither aware nor did he care about it. At one point, he found himself in an old train yard, face to face with a crumbling old caboose. He stared at it for a long time like one would stare at a ghost: fascination and horror and the distinctly hysterical sensation of going mad. He took a step back from it and a second and third until he was certain it wasn’t going to come alive and swallow him whole before turning around.

         A second attempt to get home resulted in him standing outside the shell of an old nightclub, its broken peacock sign curled near its boarded up doors. He was facing the squat building hunched directly to its left. It was so unassuming and plain, practically a carbon copy of the buildings around it. He stared at it, too, feeling the mounting desperation and icy realization creeping through his chest like a snake weaving around his ribs, scraping its fangs along his heart until it trembled. It was his own fault really.

         He had been thinking of home as he walked.

         He was forced to think now, walking to the apartment, coaching himself through every single step, reminding himself it wasn’t this road, but the other, look for a tree and a statue, not a broken lamppost. Finally, he was unlocking the door and closing it behind him and sinking door to the floor, eyes on the coffee stained into the carpet. When had it happened? Was it minutes? Hours? It could have been days for all he knew.

         _Only nineteen months._

         He was going to be sick.

         He scrambled to his feet, the snake in his chest diving down to sink its deadly fangs into his gut. He made it to the toilet and threw himself to his knees, choking up something bitter and black and vile. He kept heaving, too, until there was nothing left but a twisting throb in his stomach and rough, parched feeling in his throat.

         He pressed the handle and scooted back to sit against the wall. He closed his eyes, focusing on breathing. It was strange, really- no matter how many breaths he took, it was like he couldn’t get enough air. And the cramping in his stomach? It was starting to trickle down into his thighs, to his feet even, making his toes curl in his boots, around his back to pulse through his tail.

         It was a familiar sensation, but he couldn’t decide when he had last felt it. Ages ago, when Murray had been missing and Bentley had been in the hospital and he had been completely alone.

         _'No.’_ He started to shake, deep in the core of his body, spreading to his shoulders and down his arms to his hands, through his tail and buried in his thighs. _‘No, please, no,’_ he chanted. He hadn’t had an anxiety attack since Clock-La's destruction, but he could feel one starting now. It had been stalking him like a predator all day, straying ever and ever closer until it was upon him without warning.

         It was why, he supposed, it was called an attack.

         He tangled his fingers into his hair and dragged his legs to his chest, wrapping his tail around his ankles. The shakes came in fits and his chest ached and yawned like a splitting cavern between them, making him feel naked, exposed, like there was nothing he could do to protect himself from whatever was coming from him. Years ago it’d had a face, the face of a screeching owl, wings flared, eyes insane with hatred, talons stretched to rip into his friends, his family, into everything he loved, and tear it away from him.

         Now, he didn’t know what to call it, and it was so much worse.

         A ragged sound escaped his chattering teeth, his lungs desperate for air. He was drowning, drowning in nothing, and it just made it worse. He wanted it to stop, he wanted everything to stop, it was all moving too fast and he couldn’t hold on _(please, just let it end)_ , he didn’t even care if he had to die to make it stop _(just please, make it stop)._

         Murray was the one who got him through attacks. He had been prone to them when he was younger, especially after nightmares or when he dwelled too long on the day of his birth. He would be fine for a little while, the symptoms easily dismissed as aching from running or something off from lunch. Then they would get worse and he would start to worry, which only made the feelings escalate. He could usually talk himself out of the symptoms, but there were times when his falsely reassuring thoughts snowballed from, _“You’re ok. It’s ok. It’s nothing, just ignore it”_ to _“Oh no, it’s happening again, it’s happening again, I can feel it, I can’t stop it!”_ Then, sensing its prey falter, the attack would lunge and he would be lost.

         His first instinct had been to hide, to ride it out, but they always lasted longer when he did that. In desperation, he sought out Murray one night, shaking the other boy awake and babbling to him about the thing devouring him from the inside, forcing him to shake and sweat with cold, making him want to die because it was all just too terrible to handle and it had to stop _right now_ or he was going to go insane.

         Murray had taken him to the playroom so they could have some privacy and sat him in one of the rickety wooden chairs the girls used for tea parties, big hands on his thin shoulders.

         “Breathe,” the hippo had told him. “Like this.” He pulled in and pushed out a breath as an example, chest expanding and contracting. Sly tried to mimic him, but he would have had more like breathing through a clogged straw, the air choking and stuttering on his lips.

         “I can’t!” he had gasped, voice thin. He wanted his mom and dad and he could never have them again. “I can’t!”

         “Try it slow, like you’re smelling flowers,” Murray encouraged. Flowers? Flowers were always good; they reminded him of his mother’s gardens, and he pictured her beautiful pink and red and white roses as he inhaled.

         It worked, but the breath he had let out escaped in a hiccupping rush, which set him off all over again. The hippo had frowned and then grinned, a figurative light bulb going off over his head.

         “Breathe in like you’re smelling flowers, and out like you’re making a candle flicker!” his friend had said. Sly, exhausted and wired at the same time, tried it. Air went in and it came back out without much difficulty. So he did it again and again, counting each breath like he would a waltz (one two three, one two three). After ten minutes of rhythmic breathing, he sagged in the chair, shaky and spent. Murray had walked him back to their room, gave him something sweet from his beloved candy stash, and herded him into his own bed. He had immediately fallen asleep against the hippo, completely drained from his ordeal.

         He did the same breathing now, losing himself in the rhythm, focusing on it and nothing else as he brushed his racing thoughts out of the way. One said it had only been a matter of time, another that he deserved what was happening. One wished for Murray, because Murray had gotten terribly good at getting him to calm down (their “record” was still ten minutes). He agreed with it before turning all his attention back to his breathing.

         When the attack finally passed, he was curled up on his side, shivering with cold against the tile. A quick glance at his watch told him he had lost a full hour. Risking his steady breathing to sigh, he let his head thump back against the bathmat and closed his eyes.

         He couldn’t do it anymore. He just couldn’t. He wasn’t living, wasn’t even _surviving._ He was dying, in slow torturous inches, losing bigger and bigger pieces of himself to the lie he thought he could live with. He hated it, every second of it: the lies, the constant tiptoeing, the silence, the stares boring into his back, the _loneliness_.

         He missed Bentley and Murray, being able to talk to them about anything, knowing they had his back and proud knowing they trusted him to have theirs. He missed his room in their hideout, the smell of home lacing his blankets and the scent of flowers floating in from his balcony garden. He missed sleepless days where he would read the _Thievius Raccoonus_ and remember leaning against his father’s leg, watching him write in it.

         He had to tell Carmelita.

         The thought was so devastating and distressing, he was forced to lapse back into measured breathing until the feeling of impending doom subsided.

         He sat up, stiff and cold, and splashed some water on his face. Looking into the mirror, he hardly recognized the reflection of the thin-faced, hollow-eyed raccoon staring back. His badge swung around his neck, gleaming innocently. He pulled it off and dropped it into the trash.

         He wasn’t going to choke himself with it anymore.

         He was going to tell Carmelita.


	2. The Truth Will Out You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: emotional and physical abuse, some domestic violence
> 
> Translations:  
> (none, carry on)

* * *

 

         The handle of the door turned with a low click, startling Sly from his impromptu nap on the couch. He had fallen asleep planning the evening’s proceedings. It was dark outside now; she must have stayed at the precinct late again.

         “Hey,” he greeted, voice softened by sleep. He sat up, stretching his arms. Carmelita dropped onto the couch and leaned into his side to rest her head on his shoulder. Clearly, she had put this morning’s situation out of her thoughts.

         “Hey,” she answered, rubbing a hand over his chest. He stroked her curls lightly, wrapping one around his finger. “You left early.”

         “I think I’m coming down with something,” he answered. _‘A serious case of guilt and regret and realization.’_ “I’m sorry if I worried you.”

         “I’m sorry too, for….” She swallowed and looked down at the corner of the stained carpet. Maybe not completely out of her thoughts then.

         “It’s ok,” he soothed, leaning down to kiss her cheek. It wasn't, but when had lies stopped them? She turned her head to catch his lips instead. When she pulled away, she was smiling in a way that could only mean one thing.

         “I love you,” she told him, reaching up to cup the back of his head and pull him down for another kiss. His heart sung and he purred into her mouth, reaching across her body to grasp her waist. She swung a leg over his lap, straddling him, starting to rock her hips against his. Her skirt started to ride up around her thighs, and she made no move to fix it. His mind latched on to the pleasurable distraction after the stress he had put it through, and he relaxed against the couch, eyes half-lidded.

         “It’s been a while since we last danced, ringtail _,”_ she told him, already a little breathless. She took her hands off him to slip out of her jacket, leaving her in her bustier and skirt and nothing else. “Why don’t we dance tonight?” She kissed him again, tongue sliding across his lip. “All night.”

         He loved this woman. He loved her so, so much.

         He loved waking up to find her tail wrapped around his, her face buried in her pillow and the blankets drawn up around her shoulders so nothing but her ears and her wildly curly hair was showing. He loved going out on dates, surprising her with a soft kiss to the cheek and a rose hidden away for her to find. He loved the way her dark eyes lit up when she solved a puzzle in a case, the confidence and victory in her smile, and the way it highlighted the beauty mark at the top of her right cheekbone. He loved the softness of her lips against his mouth, the heat in her gaze when she unzipped her dress, the curves of her hips when he pulled it off completely.

         He loved Carmelita Montoya Fox. She had been in his life for over five years and he liked her in it. It gave it spice and passion and, on more than one occasion, meaning.

         He just hated what he had with her.

         The intrusive but necessary thought made him squeeze her hips to get them to stop, ignoring her questioning hum. He dropped his head to her shoulder, drawing in a lungful of her perfume. The citrus notes didn't mix with the metal and ozone smell of her shock pistol.

         Their relationship was nothing more than a pretty glass bubble, constructed by their own hands, trapping them until they couldn’t move. It wasn’t fair to him and it certainly wasn’t fair to her, forced to live the rest of her life fearing the man she loved was going to betray her.

         But to banish her fears, he would first have to make them come true. At least it wasn’t like she was catching him in the act of thieving.

         “Sly,” she breathed, tipping his head up. She hugged him to her chest, the softness of her breasts just below him, the golden shine of her badge gleaming at her throat.

         “Carmelita.” His tone made her pause. “There’s something I need to talk to you about,” he murmured, closing his eyes in a prolonged blink. He nudged her from his lap and stood, taking her hand. Her tail flicked in curiosity as he led her out of the room and to the bedroom.

         For a second, he thought about lying again, this time to himself. They could make this work, right? He could pretend to propose to her or something, and they would make love and they would go ring hunting tomorrow. They would get married and be happy, because they loved each other enough to ignore their differences. They could make it work.

         The rational part of his mind chastised the irrational sliver into a willing submission. It was just a thought, and it would always be just a thought. He had promised himself he would tell her when he had stared into the mirror, and he didn't break his promises.

         They would continue on, but not like this.

         Stopping in the center of the bedroom, he turned back to her. He took her in, committing the moment of peace to memory. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders to pull her close, other hand settling on her hip.

         “I love you,” he whispered, and kissed her. She kissed him back before pulling away, a sultry little smile on her lips as she reached for his belt. It faded when he caught her hands and shook his head. She watched him order his thoughts, eyes on her but not seeing her, and realized this was more than she had first thought it to be. The seriousness he had been attempting to hide all evening crept forward, darkening the mood, making the air thin and hot, prickling at their fur.

         “What do you need to talk to me about, Sly?” she asked, voice low and distant. He saw himself run his knuckles along her cheek and heard himself speak.

         “I never forgot.”

         It was an easy three words. He wanted to keep it simple and painless, like tearing a Band-Aid off. No need to prolong the experience. She would know what he meant.

         “…What?” she whispered. Her hands fisted in his shirt, twisting the fabric. “What did you say?”

         “I never forgot,” he repeated, reaching up to cup her elbows. Her mouth opened, then closed, and opened again, her eyes wide. She was quick to school her face into some sort of strained neutrality, a task made easy by years of police-work.

         “You’re lying,” she decided, voice toneless. She let go of him and stepped back. “You’re lying, Sly.”

         “No, Carmelita, I was lying before.”

         “We both know what happened,” she continued, like she hadn’t heard him. “We were going in to repossess the island because it's owner was performing illegal genetic experiments,” she recited. He bet she could have done it in her sleep. “There was a cave in when we confronted him. You sustained a concussion saving me. You couldn’t and _still can’t,”_ here she went rigid, “remember the last five years. The doctors diagnosed you with retrograde amnesia.”

         “No, we both know that’s not the way it went.” He shook his head, running a hand through his hair, mussing it to the way it used to be. He didn’t see her start to tremble. “I never had amnesia. I knew exactly who you were when I woke up. I knew exactly who I was. Everything,” he raised his voice a little, trying to make up for the way it cracked, “we have right now is f-”

         Pain exploded in his cheek and around his mouth; he reeled, stumbling back. Iron and salt spread along his tongue, a faint burn on his lip. He touched his fingers to it and they came away marked with blood.

         It was just like their first date as Inspector and Constable. She kissed him, smearing her lipstick on his fur, making his skin hot and too tight. He had wiped it away and admired it later in the night while she slept, convinced he would never get tired of it.

         Now, he was wiping away red again, and he felt cold and small. The vixen panted quietly, trembling as she lowered her hand, uncurling her fist. Sly stared, still reeling.

         This was a whole new level of the bad they had reached.

         “Don’t talk about it anymore. This is the way things _always_ were,” she growled.

         “…No,” he murmured. Her eyes blazed.

         “I said-”

         “No,” he repeated, with more strength, cutting her off. “Carmelita, we _need_ to talk about this. I don’t want a relationship based on nothing but lies. And lies are _all_ we have right now.”

         A spasm rocked through the vixen’s body, emotions dancing across her face too quickly for Sly to single out. He himself was angry, hurt (never thought it would be physically), and achingly sad.

         “I never forgot,” he told her. He was going to keep reminding her until she believed it. “It’s not that I remembered. I _never_ forgot. I never forgot that I was a master thief, that I had a gang, that you and I have been rivals practically since I started my career as a thief.” He swallowed thickly, running a hand through his hair again. “And I know you know that.”

         Silence. At least it was one-sided.

         “Yes, I lied to you,” he murmured to the floor. _Look at her, you coward!_ He sighed, lifting his head. “But we lied to each other. One of the hardest things for me has been knowing you tried to turn me into something I’m not.” He paused, biting his lip and wincing at the sting. “I’m sorry for what I did. I just wanted to give us a chance.” There was no answer, her eyes fixed on her feet. He stroked her cheek, hoping it would give her some comfort.

         “I’d like to start over, again. Without the lying this time,” he offered in a murmur after a long period of strained quiet. “Together, if that’s what you want. I don’t want us to build something now, only to have it come crashing down in the future when neither of us can stand to look at each other anymore.” Still, no answer. It was starting to worry him. “Carmelita,” he murmured, letting his hand fall to his side. “Please talk to me.”

         “…S…” She tried to say something, shaking. He bent closer to catch the trembling words as they fell from her barely moving lips.

         “Sorry, Cooper,” she breathed. Her hand moved by her side in a motion all to familiar. She looked up, eyes blazing, teeth bared in fury, shock pistol whirling with energy as she aimed it at his chest.

         “But I don’t talk with _criminals_.”

         He leapt back and to the side on pure instinct. The blast, instead of making contact with his midsection, scorched a hole right above the bed.

         Letting out a noise of rage, the officer sprung forward, trying to trap him. The lamp shattered, followed by the window, glass raining down to the hardwood floor. She managed to force him into a corner, the furthest one from any possible escape route, clipping his arm and shoulder. Pain zapped into his bones, a burnt taste flooding his mouth. The electricity forced him to the floor, convulsing under the voltage.

         “I should have known!” she was shouting at him. Their frantic dance, for the moment, had ended. Sly remained collapsed where he was, eyes darting between the vixen’s face and her shock pistol. “I should have known you would never be anything more than a no-good, lying _thief,_ that you would ruin _everything_ for me!” she screamed, tears beading in her eyes. She scrubbed them away in a quick swipe, lest they cloud her vision and impair her aim.

         “Carmelita,” he tried, voice thin and tight from pain. The shock was wearing off and he managed to get one leg under him. “Plea-”

         “Don’t talk to me!” she snarled, aiming again. He tensed, ready to spring out of the way. She looked him up and down, face twisted in disgust. “Look at you. Look at what you’ve forced me to do!” Her grip tightened on her pistol, coffee-black eyes obsidian, cutting into him like knives. “Trust me, Sly Cooper, when I say that I’m going to lock you up and _never let you see the sun_!”

         “Carmelita, just _listen_ to me!” he pleaded, rising to an unsteady crouch. His right arm was full of pins and needles, and he felt clumsy, half-numb. This was going south too fast for him to salvage. ‘ _This wasn’t how it was supposed to go,’_ he thought lamely as the power pack on the vixen’s shock pistol glowed in preparation. “I-”

         “ _No!”_ she barked. “I never want to see your face again, and I’ll put you behind bars to make sure of it!”

         He twisted out of the way of the next blast, lunging for her. She flinched, but he spun and slipped passed her, to the shattered window, diving out of it. His feet clanged on the fire escape, throwing him back five years ago, when he had slipped from the window of her office.

         She had been yelling at him then too.

         _“I hate you!”_ Her scream followed him as he jumped down into the street, rushing into the darkness that welcomed him with open arms. A flare of blue crashed into the pavement, lighting up the road. Light and shadow stood against each other with nothing in between, harsh and stark with no middle ground. “ _I hate you, Sly Cooper! I hate you!”_

**~***~**

         He ran for hours, arms pumping, panting frost-colored breaths into the air, losing himself to the hammering of his own heart.

         _I hate you. I hate you._

         He hated himself, too.

         He ran until he stumbled and fell with exhaustion, sprawling out on icy concrete. He lay there for a long time, shivering with the aftereffects of the shock-pistol. The fur of his face was damp with sweat and tears, and his palms stung with a vague throbbing. The numbing effect of the shock-pistol was wearing off, the various pains renouncing themselves with glee.

         But the last thing he wanted to do was get up. He wanted to stay in the middle of the road and let a car or a truck run him over, because maybe, if he were just a smear on the asphalt, he wouldn’t hurt as badly as he did now.

         He wouldn’t be so confused.

         He wouldn’t be so angry.

         He wouldn’t be so heartbroken.

         But it was three in the morning and luck wanted none (or maybe too much) of him, so he was spared.

         _‘You can’t lay here forever.’_ He let a breath escape him, uncurling his hands. _‘C’mon. Get up. Keep moving.’_

         He sat up and picked out a few pebbles from his palms, trying to rub away the smarting on his jeans. With a sigh, he got to his feet, a hand going to his arm when it protested against movement. He cringed at the sear of pain and dragged himself to a dark shop window to inspect the damage.

         His lip was bleeding, his cheek bruising in fantastic shades of purple. He lifted his arm, a dead weight against his side, for closer inspection. The fur was badly singed, the exposed skin raw and weeping. What was left of his sleeve clung to the blisters in charred scraps, promising to be torture to remove later. He had scratched himself, in numerous places and in varying depths, on the broken window, the blood matted in his pelt. And his feet were bare, the pads chafed from the run and toes starting to chill. He shivered now with a mix of leftover voltage and cold, hugging himself as best he could.

         To any casual observer, he probably looked like some druggie coming down from a high.

         He felt like a soldier limping away from the battlefield.

         He started walking, wondering what he was going to do, if there was anything he _could_ do. If he was honest, he didn’t want to do anything except find a bridge to throw himself off. Ugh. He rubbed a hand over his face, lulled into a trance by the whisper of his bare feet over the concrete. Vaguely annoyed with himself, he altered his gait slightly. His steps went silent.

         It brought him no pleasure.

         Startled from his reverie by the screech of an alley cat, he looked up. A familiar street sign swung drunkenly on its broken holder. There were broken mailboxes and a turned over flowerpots, spilling dirt and dust into the street. The wind whistled through the boards covering the broken shop fronts, scrabbling at the newspaper left on the sidewalk. A dilapidated bike sat propped against a wall, rusting as it waited for its owner’s return.

         His feet, without him aware enough to keep them in check, had carried him home. And, unlike his ventures earlier in the day, this wasn’t just the memory of it.

         He cradled his aching arm to his chest, looking up at the deceptively dim apartment complex. Anyone passing by might have suspected there were a few squatters or rowdy teens inside and not cared. The narrow, three story building had been scheduled for demolition ages ago when he, Murray, and Bentley stumbled in on it and declared it home. It had taken Bentley a solid week of fancy hacking and forged paperwork to make it vanish from city records, and another three of them making repairs for it to actually be hospitable.

         Sly could still remember the party they threw when they finished. They had been ridiculously thankful that they didn’t have any neighbors to complain about the noise.

         Dazed, he walked around the building to the old service elevator. The front door was just a hoax, leading to a bricked up entrance. He stepped onto the platform, shutting the barrier behind him as he moved to the control panel. The numbers were either missing or in the wrong order, the panel itself clinging by a few wires. He pulled it and punched the code in on the hidden buttons built into its back.

         Would they be here?

         The old elevator shut with a rattle of metal, engines humming as it ascended.

         He needed them to be here.


	3. Back to the Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: (none to my knowledge; let me know otherwise)
> 
> Translations:  
> (none, carry on)

* * *

 

         The elevator door hadn’t even opened all the way and Sly was already slipping through it, ears up, eyes taking in every detail, large and small. The wood floor was clean, the wallpaper was still peeling at the corners, the light still gave a dim, warm glow. Not much had changed, but it smelled a little dustier, like the windows hadn’t been thrown open in a long time.

         He stole through the hallways, stepping over the board that always squeaked, every sense wired to seek out the hideout’s other occupants. He would never usually allow his focus to become so narrow. It was too dangerous, too easy for someone to sneak up on him, but he’d had a trying day and cut himself some slack, especially as he caught sight of a cracked door. Yellow light reached out across the floor, and he heard a familiar voice behind it. It had nagged and worried, yelled and cheered, whispered and hummed to him since he was eight.

         Bentley.

         His heart gave a giddy surge and he cast his senses further to search for Murray before remembering, belatedly, that he was off doing a demo-derby somewhere, probably in the States. Sly allowed himself a moment to wish the big man were there too before chastising himself for being greedy. Bentley was probably the better one to see first anyway. The raccoon wasn’t sure if he could take the storm of emotions his boisterous hippo friend would go through upon discovering his return just yet.

         Easing the door open, he peeked inside, tail swishing in curiosity. He could see Bentley hunched over a table, a single bare bulb hanging over him. A toolbox sat near the turtle’s elbow, balanced precariously on a stack of books. Under the books, spread out like a mat, was a large blueprint, margins and corners decorated with hastily scribbled notes. On top of that, a semi-crumpled set of instructions looked like it desperately needed a break. Bolts and screws and random bits of metal were strewn across the wooden surface, forgotten or abandoned.

         The center of Bentley’s attention was focused on his cell phone. He was talking to some automated helpline, and he was getting progressively more frustrated. Sly made himself comfortable against the doorway, watching the scene unfold. There was a tiny smile on his lips, ears perked at the pleasure of just listening.

         “No, no! Conversion cube!” Bentley was yelping, flailing his free hand. An automated assistant continued to blather away. “Con _ver_ sion cuuuube! Back! Main menu!” His fist came down on the table, sending a glowing blue rod spinning through the air. “Main _menu!_ ”

         The rod fell and slid neatly into a strange cube with a loud click. The bits of machinery rattled against the table, the components locking into place as the panels lit up. Bentley’s jaw dropped.

         _“Does that answer your question?”_

         “Well, yes, but-” He let out a frustrated yell, chucking the phone away. Sly stifled a laugh. Thwarted by technology. The pain of betrayal must have run deep.

         _“What was that?”_

         “ _Shrimp cocktail!”_ Bentley barked. Sly couldn’t stop a giggle from escaping him this time, covering his mouth with a hand.

         “What have you got against shrimp cocktails?”

         He watched the turtle go rigid, head snapping up from his work and neck cracking. He must have been working for hours without moving, too intent on whatever his latest project was. Sly contemplated what exactly it could be before shoving curiosity away to deal with a much more pressing matter: Bentley had turned around and now they were facing each other.

         “…Hey,” he greeted lamely. What else could he say? Suddenly, he was painfully aware of how much time had passed, of how long it had been since he saw his friend and lived in this hideout. He felt, ironically, like an intruder, and the thought made his stomach twist on itself.

         Maybe he shouldn’t have come unannounced.

         Maybe, he shouldn’t have come at all.

         But Bentley was rolling toward him and was reaching out an arm, eyes bright and a wide smile lighting up his face. Sly sunk to his knees and wrapped his arms around his friend, nosing right into the crook of Bentley’s neck, breathing in the familiar scent of lemon cleaning spray and pencil eraser and cool, wet earth.

         “Welcome home,” the turtle told him fiercely, clutching his shirt. The words touched the gaping wound in his chest (oh, wait it was his mangled heart) and banished the doubt from it. “Welcome home, Sly.”

         A sound slipped from his lips, and he thought he was laughing. It wasn’t until Bentley started making similar sounds that he realized he wasn’t laughing at all.

         He was sobbing.

         The last time he had cried so deeply was at his father’s gravesite. He had been alone then, face pressed into the patch of tough, scratchy grass in front of a plain stone square bearing a name and two dates and nothing else. Enraged and torn apart by sorrow, he could only cry, after months and months of silent grief. It had all come rushing out, savage and fast and giving him no chance to escape.

         Now, he was torn apart by joy and heartbreak and relief and it still hurt but it was a good hurt and he didn’t think he had ever been so happy, embracing one of his brothers and kneeling on the floor of his home and leaving a stifling, poisonous life behind him.

         Bentley was crying, too, though. Sly hoped it was for similar reasons and not just because he was such a sorry sight to behold.

         The two men eventually pulled away, the raccoon sitting back on his heels to remain at eyelevel with the other. A shaky smile crossed his lips and the turtle choked on a laugh and they just took each other in, matching expressions of content on their very different faces.

         “Heck of a reunion for almost two years,” Bentley murmured finally, taking his glasses off to clean the tear-splattered lenses.

         “Not quite two years,” Sly countered, stopping the mental clock he had unknowingly started precisely five hundred and ninety-three days ago. The burden of keeping track of it fell away. “But one heck of a reunion is right.” He scrubbed at the tear tracks lining his cheeks with the heel of his hand, hissing when the saline stung the scrapes. The turtle noticed.

         He noticed everything else too.

         “Oh my gawd, Sly.” Contentedness morphed to horror faster than the raccoon could blink. Bentley lifted his hand, like he wanted to touch, and brought them back down, like he wasn’t sure if he could. “Oh my gawd.”

         “Ah, messy breakup,” he tried to joke, but his voice cracked and his smile felt stiff even to him. “Really messy.” He shielded the burn on his arm and pushed himself to his feet. “Can I borrow the first aid kit?”

         Bentley was already wheeling away, gesturing impatiently for him to follow. Sly padded behind him, looking around the hideout again as he did so. It really hadn’t changed much- just some more dust here and a few new assortments of scattered books and tools there.

         They entered the common room and Sly grinned at the sight of the arcade game they stole from a junkyard, its dim screen flashing. The large, round table they used for meals and planning heists was still in the center of the room, surface hidden beneath folders and blueprints and overflowing boxes. There were old and new pictures on the walls: them at the orphanage, them in the van for the first time, photos from the Vault job on Dimitri’s cruise and in the narrow backstreets of China. There was one of Murray, hefting an enormous trophy over his head, and another of Bentley and Penelope on a date. There was even a newspaper clipping of Sly, his head turned away, hand up to half-shield his face. The headline proclaimed: “New Constable Takes Down Crime Lord Single-Handedly.” Sly looked away from it, toward the balcony. The doors were closed, but the curtains were open. He made a pleased sound when he caught sight of his plants, tucked neatly along the railing.

         “You kept them alive for me.” Bentley glanced up from the emergency chest they kept.

         “Of course. I may not be so great with plants, but I finally found a way to keep them from dying on me.” The turtle turned back to his searching. “I know it means a lot to you to have them around.”

         When Sly was a child, living in a halcyon of laughter and family and safety, his mother had always kept a flower garden. Sly had been fascinated by the bright colors and silken petals, breathing in the scent of blossoms and rich earth on his mother’s fur when she came inside from tending to her flowers. After her death, when he and his father had moved to a safer home, he had begged for a small corner of the backyard to make a garden for her. His father helped him plant roses, her favorite flower, and left it to his care. It made him feel like she was still close to him, and it became his hobby, even after he was dropped in the orphanage. Bentley and Murray had asked about it once, a few years into their friendship. After hearing his explanation, they had gifted him with a few worn pots, one of which was still on the balcony.

         The roses he used to give to Carmelita had come from his garden, but he had been relying on store-bought flowers in the passed months. With their crazy schedule, jumping from one assignment to the next, working undercover here and then all the way over there, he hadn’t had the time to plant anything and, if he did, they would die from lack of care.

         He dismissed the thoughts of the vixen away with a toss of his head. He didn’t want to think about what he had left behind, not yet. He wanted to cling to the dreamlike quality of denial for as long as possible, while simultaneously throwing himself into the reality of being home. It made him feel like he was chasing his tail and he sighed, looking away from the balcony. Bentley had surfaced from the chest with a triumphant “ah-ha!,” a tackle box resting on his lap.

         “Pull up a seat,” the turtle told him, transferring the box to the table. “This may take a little while. What exactly did you do, roll around in broken glass?” He started pulling out supplies, muttering under his breath. Sly put a hand on his brother’s arm to get him to stop.

         “Bentley, I can do this myself.” The genius turned to him and blinked.

         “I know,” he replied. “But I want to do it.” His tone was firm, but there was a pleading in his eyes. Sly sat down and surrendered his arm with no further argument.

         Bentley started patching him up like he handled everything else: as a methodical perfectionist. The turtle began with the worst of his injuries (his burnt arm) and moved to the smallest (his split lip), making sure every scrap of fabric or dirt was cleared away and every bandage was neatly bound or taped into place.

         “There,” Bentley hummed, sitting back and looking pleased with his work. Sly smiled in return, hands folded in his lap and tail swishing happily, to disguise how much he was hurting on the inside now that the outside had been taken care of.

         Bentley had smeared his cheek, feet, and palms with arnica paste to encourage the bruises and scrapes to heal faster. Bandages looped around his upper forearm and lower bicep, a patch of gauze taped in the crook of his elbow. He had more long scratches up his legs: two on his thigh, one on his calf, and a fourth across his shin. They were fairly superficial, but covered with care. When it was all over, Bentley found the raccoon a fresh shirt and a pair of sweatpants, insisting he put them on.

         “Thank you,” Sly murmured, feeling well looked after and spoiled utterly rotten at the same time.

         “Any time,” Bentley replied, closing the kit. He chuckled suddenly, expression nostalgic. “Remember the first time I did this for you? You fell into an alley when a rain gutter broke off from the roof you were trying to climb.”

         “Ugh, don’t remind me,” the raccoon complained. He had been eleven, and it had been his first time on rooftops. He had fallen ten feet onto a couple of trashcans and limped home, sore and determined to try again tomorrow. “You threatened to amputate my tail if I went out alone again.” Bentley’s laughter turned dark and he favored the other with a smirk.

         “Yes, I did.” He rolled to the chest and put the kit away. “I miss those days.” He paused, back to Sly, and seemed to deflate. “I really miss those days.”

         “Bentley?”

         “It… It really hasn’t been the same,” he continued, voice breathy and sad. “Since the vault job.” He rubbed a hand over his face. Sly stood and walked over, crouching next to him and laying a hand on his knee.

         “I’ve missed you. And Murray. And the way things were,” Bentley told him. “Maybe it’s some form of psychological dependency, but I don’t care. I want to go back. All I do is work in the lab and sometimes Penelope takes me out for some fresh air, but I… I don’t feel like I’m living, not really.” He leaned out of his chair to throw his arms around Sly in a sudden display of emotion. “I’m so glad you’re back.” The raccoon wrapped his arms around him and rubbed a hand down his shell, tracing over the familiar grooves and ridges. “It’s just not the same.”

         “I know, pal.” How had he gone so long without his family? “I know.”

         “I’m sorry, I just-” He grumbled Bentley’s apology away and nuzzled into him, holding him close for a few moments.

         “This isn’t something you have to be sorry for.” The turtle nodded and lifted his head from Sly’s shoulder, letting him go so he could stand.

         “It’s been a long day,” he declared. “I don’t think anyone would fault us for going to bed.”

         “Bed sounds fantastic,” Sly hummed.

         “Well, your room is dusty, and Penelope said she was going to be out today, so you can sleep with me,” Bentley said, rolling himself down the hall. For a second time, Sly followed him, passing the room that was once his and would be his again and the one Murray usually occupied until they entered Bentley’s room.

         It was meticulously ordered, a sharp contrast to the clutter outside. The floorboards were shiny and swept, the carpet soft and recently vacuumed. The corner, occupied by two bookshelves and a plush armchair, was warm and cozy. The big wooden desk Bentley so adored (Sly and Murray privately agreed it looked like a principal’s desk) was freshly polished, its supplies ordered neatly in little organizer bins and folders tucked into dividers. The dresser held a set of speakers, a stack of CDs huddled up next to it, more books, and Bentley’s beloved crossbow. The bed was up against the opposite wall and looked oh-so inviting. Bentley was already tugging off his work gloves and removing his bowtie, tossing them on the nightstand. Sly followed his lead, rounding the bed and lifting the covers.

         Sharing a bed was nothing new or strange. Back at the orphanage, they had frequently shoved the mattresses together in a pile on the floor to make a nest, blankets strung over their heads in place of walls. It had been their sanctuary, a place where they could feel safe and loved, the family that they chose close enough to hear soft breathing and steady heartbeats. There had even been times where they had done it out of necessity to escape the cold air their blankets hadn’t even attempted to keep out, and it had driven them together.

         It had been the first night Sly spent in the orphanage. It was just too cold, both inside the room and inside the kit’s chest, and he had lied awake, shivering and staring at nothing with half-lidded eyes. Murray had tapped Bentley’s shell and the two had exchanged a loaded look, and then they were crawling into Sly’s bed, snuggling up on either side of him, and he had slept peacefully for the first time since his father had died.

         The adult Sly clambered into bed and curled himself into a loose crescent, half-covering himself with the space-print duvet. Bentley hefted himself out of his chair with a small grunt, snuggling himself back against the raccoon’s torso, folding his hands across the front of his shell. Sly wrapped his tail around him, smiling at the sigh of contentment that escaped the turtle. He rubbed his nose to Bentley’s temple and his cheek over his head, instinctively re-marking him. Satisfied, he thumped back against the pillows, letting out a sigh of his own. If it weren’t for the bandages and the lack of big pink hippo, he would have said everything was back to normal.

         “Let’s…” He yawned. “Not do that again.”

         “Agreed.” The turtle gave a yawn of his own. “I should really figure out why those are contagious.”

         “Tomorrow,” the raccoon mumbled. He was warm and relaxed and exhausted. “Sleep now.”

         “Yeah. Good light, Sly.” He almost whimpered in relief at the phrase he had missed for so many months.

         “Good light, Bentley.” A pleasant sort of darkness curled around him. He sunk into it gratefully. “Sweet dreams.”

         His reply was a low snore, echoing hollowly from inside the turtle’s shell. He smiled as he drifted off, eyes closing, ears relaxing against his head. A low purr rumbled around his chest.

         Welcome home indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three chapters in :) It's kinda funny, knowing exactly who my readers are (shout out to my squad). Hopefully, others will start noticing but until then, I'm happy to keep updating for my friends ^_^.
> 
> (Also naming chapters is HARD and they will get progressively worse until I can't take it anymore and go plant myself in a forest or something for being so sappy and uncreative.)


	4. Starting Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: I’m gonna take a risk and say none; let me know if I’m wrong
> 
> Translations:  
> De rien – you’re welcome

* * *

         Bentley woke up to a gentle rising-and-falling sensation against his shell, rhythmic and slow. He poked his head out curiously, smacking his lips and reaching for his glasses. Penelope wasn’t so cuddly, preferring to press her back up against his. She would tuck herself into a ball and snuggle close, and he loved it.

         But Penelope had said she was spending the night with a fellow RC friend, and he could feel the steady thud of heartbeat against him. It was a chest, not a back, pressed against him. And it was vibrating, no, purring, like the engine to his RC car. Penelope didn’t purr, and he was pretty sure he had put away all the RC stuff the other night. There was something around his front too, something fluffy and soft. He looked down and saw shadow-grey and black fur: a tail, a tail attached to a body, to a person.

         Sly. He had come home last night.

         He was still nestled among the blankets, his messy hair spilling across the pillow. He didn’t wake when Bentley pushed his tail out of the way and slid off the mattress into his chair, only curling himself up in the space the turtle had been with a sleepy little murmur.

         _‘He looks like a kid.’_ A kid with scraped knees and hands, with slices lining his legs and chest, and an electrical burn the size of a softball covering his arm. Bentley took a moment to dig his chewed-down nails into the armrests of his chair.

         Sly had never been one for the “normal” life; thieving was too deeply entwined with his heart and soul. It was his legacy, his first love, his life. As hard as the raccoon might have tried, cutting it out was an impossibility. Bentley was ninety-nine point seven percent sure that his friend would rather cut off his own tail than give it up again, even if it was for the woman he loved. The fact he had even _tried_ was testament enough to how much he loved Carmelita. And she hadn’t seen it or valued it for what it was. She had crossed lines, sacred lines that had nothing to do with officers of the law and criminals on the other side of it, and for that, she earned his disgust and cynicism.

         Brooding as he was, Bentley didn’t notice the raccoon lift his head from the pillow and rise to one elbow, eyes half open. One of his ears was bent from the way he had slept on it, drooping crookedly, and his hair was a wild mess. Rubbing the back of his hand over his eyes, he looked around and caught sight of the turtle’s grim face. He let himself flop back down on the mattress, a smirk pulling at his lips.

         “Who ate your bowl of moonlight this evening?” Bentley twitched, startled from his thoughts, and rolled his eyes.

         “Whatever.” Sly chuckled, rolling onto his back. “Sleep well?”

         “Mmm hmm,” Sly purred. He indulged in a luxurious stretch, spine arching at an impossible angle. He added a half twist, bones giving a few satisfying crunches, before relaxing. “What time is it?”

         “Kinda early,” Bentley confessed, checking the clock. It read six forty-two in the evening, and a glance outside revealed the sky just beginning to gain its sunset jewel tones. “But we slept through the rest of the night and the day, so I’m not surprised.” He gave a stretch of his own, pushing his arms above his head until his shoulders strained. “Man, I slept like I was shot.”

         “No kidding,” Sly hummed, sitting up. The turtle winced.

         “Sorry.”

         “Don’t be. It’s funny. How many people get to use that joke?” the raccoon grinned. He got to his feet, running a hand through his wild hair. “So, what are your plans?”

         “Same as always.” Bentley shrugged. “Go work down in the lab. Work out the kinks in my project. Microwave some food if I get hungry.”

         “And Penelope… is ok with this?” Sly asked, raising eyebrow. “Not that I should be giving relationship advice, but…”

         “She isn’t home much,” the turtle told him. “She’s gotten really involved with a local RC club, so she’s keeping busy. She says she doesn’t mind how long I spend in the lab so long as I remember to take care of myself.”

         “And have you been taking care of yourself?”

         “More or less.” The raccoon frowned and put a hand on Bentley’s shoulder.

         “No more of this ‘more or less’ crap,” he insisted. “Starting today. You’re going to shower, I’m going make breakfast, and _then_ you can go to your lab.”

         “Fine,” the turtle grumbled, but he didn’t sound too upset. “…What are you going to make?”

         “Crepes,” Sly grinned.

         “Ok, the lab can wait if you’re making crepes. And I could use a shower,” Bentley admitted.

         “No kidding. Good thing I was so tired last night or I would have _never_ fallen asleep,” the raccoon teased, pinching his nose shut and shuddering. “No wonder Penelope hasn’t been home.”

         “Rude!” the genius yelped, swatting at his hip. Sly danced away before the blow could make contact, grinning. “You’re still a sassy brat.”

         “And you’re still an uptight workaholic,” he retorted. Bentley flapped a hand at him, wheeling himself away with a grumble.

         “Just go make breakfast,” he said, closing the door behind him. He heard Sly chuckle and turn away, paw-pads rasping lightly over the wood floor. Bentley paused to appreciate the familiar sound before reaching into the pack he kept clipped to his wheelchair. Mentally crossing his fingers, he punched in a number into his cellphone and lifted it to his ear. It was afternoon in the States. Hopefully there wouldn’t be a race going on.

         “C’mon, big guy, you’re gonna want to hear this…” He chewed his lip, rapping his fingers on his armrest. The dial tone ended.

         Success!

         _“Hello?”_ Bentley couldn’t stop himself from grinning.

         “Murray, guess who’s home.”

**~***~**

         Sly huffed a laugh and shook his head, turning away from the door and continuing on to the kitchen. His ear flicked up, catching the sound of a hushed female voice, Penelope probably. Her reaction to his presence would no doubt be an interesting one. Their relationship during the Vault job could only be described as “let's just be friends” for the majority and “you’re dating my best friend, that’s cool” for the minority.

         He lingered at the doorway to the kitchen, tail swishing against the back of his thighs. Penelope was at the counter, her back to him, filling a small knapsack with some half-clipped papers.

         “Good evening, Penelope,” Sly greeted. The pink mouse jerked around, eyes wide behind her yellow glasses.

         “Sly!” she squeaked, slipping a small silver something into her pocket. “I didn’t know you were visiting!” Her tone was caught between cheerful and… something else. Something not cheerful. Sly couldn’t blame her; he was essentially barging in on her and Bentley’s home.

         “Visiting… may not be the right word,” he told her hesitantly, stepping into the kitchen. The light from the window fell across his battered face. She blinked, eyes roving over him to assess the damage, but she gave no other indication of surprise. “Sorry for sleeping with your boyfriend last night,” he added teasingly.

         “Carmelita found out about the ‘amnesia,’ didn’t she?” Penelope asked, ignoring the comment. Wondering if he should be surprised at her forwardness, he nodded. She gave a low hum. “Can’t say I blame her for reacting the way she did.”

         “Neither can I,” the raccoon replied. The mouse gave another hum and turned back to the counter. Sly went to the cupboards, taking her in as he did so.

         Penelope had certainly changed last time he saw her. She was still wearing boots and her bandana, but instead of a pair of denim overalls over a long-sleeved shirt, she wore a yellow jumpsuit, snug around her hips and shoulders. Judging from the yellow safety goggles, he guessed she had ditched her wire glasses for contacts. It was a good look for her.

         “Would you like some breakfast?” he asked, already pulling out a pan and some bowls to make crepes. She shook her head.

         “No, I’ve got to go out tonight,” she told him. “I’m meeting with some friends.”

         “From your RC club?” he wondered, collecting the ingredients for the batter. “Bentley told me about it. It’s cool how you’ve stuck with it for all this time.”

         “I guess,” she sighed, throwing a few granola bars into her bag and grabbing a can of some energy drink. “It’s childish.” He blinked at her odd declaration. She threw the bag over one shoulder. “Where’s Bentley?

         “Oh, he’s in the shower,” he answered, but the red ribbon on the end of her tail was already disappearing around the corner. He heard the bedroom door open and close, heard another door open and close (no doubt to the bathroom), and then silence. He shuddered and tried to focus on breakfast.

         Fifteen minutes later, the crepes were done and Sly was cutting up some of the fruit he had found in the barren fridge. If Murray were there, the poor hippo would’ve had a heart attack and dragged them both off to the market. The thought made him smile and grab the powdered sugar. Even if Murray was halfway around the world, the least he could do was put out his favorite crepe topping.

         “…sure you don’t want to come?” Penelope’s voice drifted from the hall, catching his ear. “Really, Bentley, I think it would be good for you. The two of us, working on the plans the club has for the future- we would be unstoppable! And it would get you out of the lab.” She was tempting the turtle into going with her somewhere.

         “I would go, Penny, but I want to make sure Sly gets settled in again,” he heard the genius reply. “He’s had a rough twenty-four hours.”

         “Sly’s a grown man who can take care of himself.” There was a sharpness to the mouse’s voice and the raccoon didn’t blame her for it.

         “I know he is, but… But I haven’t seen him in such a long time, Penelope. I missed him, and I want to spend some time with him.”

         “But you’re missing out on an amazing opportunity!” the mechanic complained. “All for the sake of a so-called _friend_ who didn’t have amnesia and hasn’t had the decency to at least send you a letter in two years! If you ask me, you should-”

         “I’m not asking you, Penelope.” Bentley’s voice was calm, but frosty. Sly grimaced, scratching at his arm. “I want to spend time with Sly. I’m sorry if that bothers you, but that’s what I’m doing today.” There was a long pause and an annoyed ‘tch!’ from the mouse.

         “Fine,” she grumbled. There was a clatter of metal; she must have pressed the button for the elevator. Her voice softened. “I just want what’s best for you. He’s holding you back from the great person you could be.” The raccoon heard her kiss the turtle and step into the elevator. “I love you, Bentley. I only want what’s best for you.” The doors closed. “Bye.”

         Sly pulled out two plates and two glasses and dished out the crepes, mulling over what he had just heard. Bentley rolled into the room, brightening when he caught sight of the breakfast spread.

         “I can’t remember the last time I had breakfast,” he confessed. “Thanks for making it.”

         “ _De rien_ ,” Sly answered, taking a seat and drizzling some honey onto the apples he had put in his crepe. Bentley commandeered the berries, rolling his up into a tube with more care than necessary.

         “…Sorry you had to hear that," he mumbled, jerking his head toward the hall. Sly shrugged with one shoulder.

         “She does have a point." The turtle frowned sharply.

         “And I'm twenty-five years old with an IQ of 152. I think I can make my own decisions." The raccoon dipped his head to one side in a submissive nod.

         “I know,” he admitted. “…But if it makes it easier, I can-”

         “What? Leave?” The turtle unrolled his crepe, only to re-roll it tighter than before. “Please don’t. I just got you back. Yes, it would probably be easier, but I don’t want it to be easy. Easy is no fun.” He bit into his breakfast and stared hard at the raccoon. “This is your home. No one is kicking you out, not even yourself. Got it?”

         Sly chuckled quietly, unable to keep the crooked smile off his face.

         “Yes, sir.” Bentley relaxed with a satisfied huff.

         “So, if you don’t mind me asking,” Sly began a moment later. “Why _have_ you been spending so much time in the lab?”

         “Oh! Well, I’ve been working on a new project,” Bentley told him, glasses gleaming. Sly smiled; the genius always became more animated when he was talking about his work. “It’s still in the works, but I’m impressed with myself,” the turtle continued. “I can’t wait to see how it turns out.”

         “Are you going to tell me what it is or leave me hanging?” he wondered, smirking. The turtle grinned, adjusting his thick glasses.

         “I’m building a time machine.” Sly’s ears shot up, along with his eyebrows.

         “Really?” He took another bite of his breakfast, disguising his surprise with nonchalance. “Isn’t that just sci-fi fantasy?”

         “It was,” Bentley told him, sounding beyond pleased. “It won’t be much longer. I’m already sixty-three percent done with it. I would have finished, but I had a set back when I realized my designs would have resulted in a machine too large to use comfortably. But, I managed to put together the conversion cube yesterday and I’ve shrunk it down to about a tenth of its original size.”

         “So that’s what the shrimp cocktails were about,” the raccoon chuckled. “What are you going to use it for?”

         “Well, it’s too dangerous to go to the future, and there’s really no point to it. You would never meet yourself because you would have left your timeline to skip ahead, though it’s arguable that you could meet yourself if you jumped forward in time and eventually went back to your original time line and therefore still existed to meet your future self as you jumped to the future. _So_ ,” the turtle paused to take a breath and Sly took a moment to reorganize his derailed train of thought. “I’m going to finish the calibrations for traveling back in time today. The research purposes would be _endless_. Archaeologists could go back in time and see how ancient civilizations actually lived. Dinosaurs could be studied in depth. The questions of the past would have answers. It will revolutionize modern technology, all through looking at the past!”

         “And, ya know, not to be small-minded, but…” Sly kept his voice blasé, but there was an excited gleam in his eyes he knew was obvious. Bentley smirked, knowing where he was headed. “We could pull really cool heists.”

         “Ah, heists. It’s been a while,” Bentley reminisced.

         They spent some time going back and forth, naming jobs that had either been particularly rewarding or terribly amusing. It was almost eight by the time they finished, the sun was a sliver over the horizon, reaching a last few coppery fingers over the rooftops to draw in the dark night. People would start winding down from a day of work or be getting ready for the night, either to party at the glittering clubs or work themselves. Carmelita would be in the former group, probably just throwing her purse on the couch and kicking off her heels, unless she stayed late at work, which was more than likely.

         If she had even gone to work.

         Like a snuffed light, Sly’s good mood vanished. The taste of his breakfast turned to ash in his mouth, the fruit cloying, the crepe sponge-like. It was threatening to come back up, and he nudged his plate further away from him with a flick of a finger.

         “Sly?” Bentley brow furrowed. “You ok?”

         “No, not really,” he breathed. He didn’t have the energy to lie. “I just started thinking about Carmelita and I…” He dragged a hand over his face. “I’m sorry.”

         “No, no,” Bentley insisted. “I want to know what’s on you’re mind. Don’t shut me out.” The raccoon heaved a sigh, running his fingers through his hair.

         “…I-I loved her, Bentley.” A disbelieving huff of laughter escaped him. “I _still_ love her.” Sly closed his eyes and remember how she would cuddle with him on the sleepy mornings they had off, how she would just come and lean against his back, how soft her fingertips felt when she made nonsensical patterns in his fur, purposefully stroking the wrong way so it would tickle. “And all I can seem to remember is the good things we had together, and it makes me feel like a scumbag for ruining _everything_.” He forced his hands back through his hair, ears folding back. “I’m so _stupid_. For leaving, for bitching like this, for-”

         “Whoa, ok, I’m going to break this down for you,” Bentley interrupted. There was something in his no-nonsense approach that immediately put the raccoon at ease. “One: you’re going through the typical symptoms of post-breakup. You were with Carmelita for almost two years and you’ve loved her for, like, five. Almost six. You’re going to miss her and want to be with her again. But two: you can’t go back to her. She assaulted you, with a weapon.”

         “Yeah, but-”

         “‘Yeah, but’ nothing.” Bentley spoke over him, forcing him to back down. “They teach kids if your partner hits you, even once, you leave and don’t look back, no matter what they say. You are not going back to her. Which brings me to three: it will take time to get over her, but you will get over her. I know it seems like you won’t, but you will. And starting fresh,” he gestured around them, “is a really good starting point for getting over her, or any breakup for that matter.” Sly shivered once and nodded; everything he said made sense. The turtle softened. “And I’m here to help, pal. If you need to talk, I want to listen.”

         “Since when did you become a love guru?” the raccoon teased, but there was too much pain in his face to make it funny. He shook his head, abandoning the act. “Where do I start, Bentley? I feel so lost.”

         “You left and that’s enough to begin. From there… I guess get your stuff from her apartment.”

         “Well, I didn’t leave Kaine Island with anything but my clothes, so there’s not like there would be much to go back for,” Sly told him. He traced patterns in the melting powdered sugar with his fork, focusing on the way it clumped and folded while he spoke. “I can do without the clothes. I had a journal, but I hid it where Carmelita won’t find it, and if she does, it’s not like it doesn’t have anything in it that I haven’t already told her.” He gathered the sugar into a pile and crushed it under his fork. “There are some pictures…” He sat up straighter, clearing his throat. “It’s probably better to just leave them where they are, if they haven’t already been burned or shredded or whatever Carmelita might do with them.” His lips twitched as he attempted to joke for a second time. “No physical baggage. Just emotional. Takes up less room that way.”

         “…I’m sorry it didn’t work out.” Bentley touched his wrist, prompting him to let go of the fork and turn his hand up. “I really am. But…” The turtle’s thumb ran across his pulse. “I think it’s a good thing it didn’t work out either.”

         “Yeah,” Sly agreed, voice hollow. His arm ached in time with the beating of his broken heart. “Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hnnnnngh this is so late I'm sorry updating totally slipped my mind today but here it is. Better late than never!


	5. Reunited

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: flashback to violence (one small paragraph)
> 
> Translations:  
> (none, carry on)

* * *

         Five days.

         Five days of dragging Bentley out of the lab for actual social contact and rereading the _Thievius Raccoonus_ and practicing with his cane. Five days of being home.

         Sly woke in his own bed, amidst sheets smelling of familiar detergent. The shadows were just beginning to play along the rafters and the ledges of his bookshelf, peering from behind his desk and reaching along the walls, and he admired them with sleepy eyes. He coaxed himself out of his warm blankets after they melted into one long streak of black, moving to the center of his room.

         How had he ever thought he could have lived away from this?

         He roamed, touching everything: the blankets, his books, the walls, his desk. His fingers drunk it all in greedily: his blanket was so very soft and comforting, the books were old and well-thumbed, the wallpaper was old and peeling, the wood of his desk had swirling whorls and ridges invisible to the naked eye but so detailed under his sensitive hands.

         He pressed his hands flat to the surface, letting the warmth soak into his palms. His desk had little compartments built into it, which he had taken to filling with various knickknacks, trophies, and especially beloved books from his past. Getting over Carmelita left him constantly thinking, remembering, sifting through old thoughts. It was an exhausting yet cathartic process, one that left him hungry for more, casting his mind’s gaze further and further back. The curious he had stored in the desk mapped out a pathway for him to follow as he pleased.

         The wrapper from a priceless gourmet chocolate bar gleamed next to a cobalt blue rose and a polished monocle. Another cubby held chunks of raw opal, citrine, a cracked geode, and a silky smooth river stone, all gifts from Murray. Next to them was an assortment of smoke bombs and in-field gadgets from Bentley. There were a few journals, each a little younger than the last, and a small photo album. He tugged it free from its slot and opened it to a random page. It was mostly filled with pictures of him, Bentley, and Murray as children and then as teenagers, but there were some random shots from heists he had particularly enjoyed and moments he found oddly important.

         Sly liked pictures: taking them, developing them, looking at them. Mostly because they were good reminders of happier times. He hadn’t even known he had the talent for it until Bentley put him on recon one day. He had started snapping photos of things that caught his eye in between important shots: a brightly lit club window, the way foam tangled together in a rushing river, a spider’s web made in a missing section of stained glass, the way Paris looked like a glittering net of light spread out under the top of the Eiffel Tower. It brought him a strange amount of peace and enjoyment.

         He continued to flip through the pages, lingering on old favorites: Bentley’s first field mission, the turtle practicing in his new wheelchair, Murray working on the van, another with the big man beating a punching bag. Sly stroked his fingers down the spine as he put it away, eyes moving to the next space, which held only one item, tucked far back into the shadows.

         His treasure box.

         He pulled it out, putting his hand over the tin’s cool surface. The faded blue paint was rough under his fingertips, missing at the edges. He popped the simple latch with his thumb and lifted the lunchbox’s lid.

         The treasure box was one of his most prized possessions, ranked high with his cane and the _Thievius Raccoonus_. It contained tiny, perhaps meaningless mementos of his life before he was eight, before-

_A crash at the door. Loud voices. His father scooping him up and hiding him among coats, setting his cane next to him. Hands on his face, and a kiss to his forehead. The smell of his father's breath: a hint of ash, frosting from his birthday cake, and coffee. Gentle words, shaken by fear and almost tears. Then the door closed and another burst open._

         He had spent countless hours wondering if the change was for better or for worse. It had taken him years to accept that it was just a change. Life as he knew it had ended, yes, but it didn’t mean what was to come was automatically bad.

         It didn't make him miss his family any less, though.

         He had an empty phial of his mother’s perfume, the delicate floral scent clinging to the crystal. The simple gold ear cuff she often wore was still clean. There was one of her fingerless wedding gloves, the delicate white lace starting to yellow around the edges. In truth, it had been his great-grandmother's. His father had stolen her grandmother’s wedding dress for his mother so she could wear it, a dream she’d had since she was a child. Her family, upon discovering her affair with one of the world’s most notorious thieves, had immediately disowned her, so stealing it had been their only option. Sly had met _that_ side of his family twice: once when his mother died and again when his father died. Needless to say, he didn’t think about them often and, when he did, it was with little favor.

         He had his father’s wooden pipe, smelling faintly of smoke and ash, belonging to the grandfather he never met. He traced the curve of his father’s wedding ring. He had never seen his father without it on, even after his mother died. He picked up a broken wristwatch. The hands were forever frozen at 6:19, when his father had been thrown to the floor by the blow of an owl’s wing. Shivering, he moved onto a small, nondescript looking cufflink. When opened properly, it revealed a small USB drive, used when his father worked with computers. Computers escaped Sly’s realm of expertise, but his father had been amazing. He could remember the long fingers flying over a keyboard, the chatter of keys soothing him to sleep.

         He shifted the items out of the way and pulled out a stack of photos. He only had a small handful from before his eighth birthday; many of them had been destroyed or confiscated as "evidence." Most were newspaper clippings from successful heists his father’s gang had pulled. They had headlines like “ _Cooper Gang Evades Capture!”_ and _“World’s Largest Diamond Stolen from Museum Collection!”_ There were also pictures though, ones Sly rarely touched in fear of ruining them.

         There was an old photo of a young raccoon with his arms around a female cat. They were his grandparents, August Cooper and Quynh Chu.

         They had met when August went to Vietnam, intent on capturing the horrors of the war (Sly liked to think he got his love of photography from him). He had met Quynh and, shortly thereafter, they had been expecting Sly’s father. Sly had never met his grandfather, who died before he was born. The only memory he had of his grandmother was of a long braid, swinging down a woman's back.

         An even older black-and-white portrait showed another raccoon, elegantly seated on a bench. Her chin was set at an angle some would call haughty, but her eyes twinkled at the camera, the suggestion of a smile around her lips. Her name, if the scrawl on the back was reliable, was Evangeline. She had been Sly’s great-grandmother on his mother’s side, the owner of his mother's wedding dress. The only relative of hers to not completely abandon her granddaughter when she fell in love with a thief, Evangeline had apparently caught his father in the act of stealing her dress. Her only condition was that she have a seat at their tiny wedding.

         The final picture he had was of his parents, sitting against an old oak tree, holding hands, their heads tilted down and touching lightly. Someone had written “Aria and Connor, 1991” over the top. It had been taken a month before their wedding, when they found out she was pregnant, pregnant with him.

         Sly touched each treasure lightly, reliving the memories he had of them, good and bad. A faint sigh escaped him and he stood, cradling the lunchbox in his hands, wondering when it had gotten so tiny. Somewhat drained, he tucked the tin into an empty compartment on his desk, planning on going to the lab to see Bentley needed any-

         His fingers brushed something thick and papery, a faint rustle catching his attention. Curious, he reached in again, grasping a stack of something shoved way back into the desk, completely forgotten.

         A stack of papers, no, letters, held together with a bit of old twine. He held them and stared down at the handwriting on the back, specifically at the name of the sender.

         Calia Shade.

         The name conjured the image of a fellow five-year-old, visiting the area with her parents. She had been sitting among the roots of an oak tree, arms crossed and a sullen pout on her face, when he stumbled over her. Literally. He had gone sprawling into the grass and laid there, stunned. She rushed to his side and rolled him to his back, peering into his face.

         _“Are you ok?”_ she asked, on her hands and knees next to him.

         _“Ow,”_ he grunted, sitting up and inspect his arm. Blood leeched through his fur, beading into small droplets to run down to the point of his elbow. She had swung a red backpack from her shoulders and pulled something out.

         _“Here!”_ she said, and pressed a Band-Aid to the scrape.

         “ _What’s the big idea, sticking your legs out in the middle of everything?”_ he demanded, jumping to his feet. The hurting had stopped and he had gotten mad. _“Don’t you know there’s people walking around here?”_

         _“No,”_ she had answered primly, standing and patting her skirt clean. “I came here to be alone. I didn’t think anybody lived this far out.” He hmphed and looked down at the Band-Aid. It was white with rainbow zigzags; cool enough for him to forgive her. _“I didn’t mean to trip you.”_

         _“’S’okay, I guess,”_ he hummed, dropping his arm. _“Why do you want to be alone?”_

         She turned and looked at him, looked hard. Her eyes were a stunning blue, like a sky on a winter day. His five-year-old self had ducked his head at such a powerful stare, dropping his gaze to her feet.

         _“…Why don’t you have any shoes?”_ he had asked, pointing. Her bare toes curled into the grass and she clasped her hands behind her back, eyes slipping away.

         _“I took ‘em off,”_ she explained.

         _"Oh."_ He scuffed his own shoed feet against the ground and lifted his head. _"My name is Sly."_ He stuck out his hand.

         _"My name is Calia."_ She took it. _"I didn't mean to trip you."_

         He couldn’t quite recall what they did next. He forgave her, and then perhaps they climbed the tree, swinging from the branches. They had shared the apples that grew there, and took shelter against the trunk when it started to drizzle. Or had it been from the sun as it rose? He could remember how her white hair had been French braided over her shoulder, but had forgotten the color of the ribbon used to tie it off. Maybe they fell asleep for a while, her head on his shoulder.

         After what must have been hours disguised as minutes, someone had called her name. She had looked up with an unhappy whine, a resigned look on her face.

         _“I have to go, Sly,”_ she told him, scrambling to her feet. Already she was drifting away, deeper into the forest. _“You should write to me,”_ she insisted over her shoulder and started to run. _“And I’ll write you.”_

         _“Wait!”_ he had shouted, jumping up. _“You forgot your backpack!”_

         _“Keep it!”_ she had yelled back, bare feet flying over the grass and leaves. And he had kept it, going as far as to resize the straps so he could keep using it as he grew. There hadn’t been much in it: her shoes, a tin lunchbox with snacks, a few loose band aids like the one she gave him, and a notebook with black pages and a white gel pen. Stitched on the inside, he found her name and her address. He wrote her a letter that very evening using her paper and pen, and begged his father for a stamp so he could send it. From then on, they sent each other letters every week. Even after his eighth birthday; the regular arrival of her letters had kept him sane in those first few months, when he was so terribly alone.

         When he left the orphanage at sixteen (thank whatever god existed that Bentley had gotten custody of him) and nearly killed himself with zealous overtraining, the weekly letters started coming every twenty days. Twenty days became a month. They had managed to get back to a seven day schedule at one point, but they were both distracted by navigating their lives. And then he had turned eighteen and set off after the Fiendish Five and it had all crashed to a halt at their own prompting. He could still remember the ending lines from her last letter. Her handwriting, once a childish scrawl, had become so much neater over the years.

 

         _“I think it’s a suicide mission, but it’s one I would go on if I were in your place. If you don’t think you’ve already made your family proud, at least know that you’ve made me proud. You’re the strongest person I know. Lesser men would have crumbled from the beginning._

_I wish you nothing but the best of luck, and for you to remember me sometimes, for old time’s sake. I don’t expect a reply to this, but I hope for letter in the future._

_Until we meet again,_

_Calia Shade”_

         She had tucked a white Band-Aid with rainbow zigzags into the envelope. He pulled it out now, feeling how old and crispy the paper covering had become, how the rubber had dried out.

         “ _I hope for a letter in the future_.”

         Why not?

         He pulled out his chair and sat down at his desk, setting the letters next to him.

 

_“Dear Calia,”_

 

         He paused, lifting his pen from the paper. Was this even ok? Starting up a correspondence that had died years ago? Sly bit his lip, tapping the pen against the desk. He would write her a letter, but he wouldn’t send it. He would get his thoughts down on paper, then rewrite them into something more socially acceptable. And so, he continued.

 

         “ _It’s been five years since I last wrote to you. I’m just starting to realize how long it’s been. You asked for a letter in the future, and I’m hoping that I haven’t missed my window of opportunity._

         _Life has been… changing for me in the passed week. I keep finding myself looking backwards, like I’m stuck in my past. I think a lot about the places I used to know, about the people in my life once. You were one of them,"_ his pen halted for a second before continuing, _"and I wouldn’t mind having you in it again._

_So much has happened since I got your last letter…”_

 

         He wrote about avenging his father and restoring his family’s prized heirloom, disbanding the Fiendish Five in the process. No doubt she had heard about it, but why not give some insider details? He recounted some of the heists he had pulled with Bentley and Murray in the two blissful years before discovering the intact Clockwerk parts and their subsequent theft by the Klaww Gang. Not feeling the need to sugarcoat his words, he told her about Bentley’s paralysis and his hand in it, how it had destroyed Murray. None of them had gotten to recover, physically or emotionally, from the ordeal as he had received a letter from McSweeney a month later telling him about his inheritance and the rest of the legacy his father had left behind for him to rediscover. He even talked a little bit about Carmelita, but left out most of the details. Even if it was just a mock letter, it wasn’t something he was comfortable with putting into words just yet.

_“Life now is fairly quiet. I’m home again and starting things over. Or picking things back up. I guess it all depends on how you look at it._

_I feel a ~~little~~ lot selfish dumping this all on you, but I thought you might like to know what’s happened and, in return, I want to know about what’s going on in your life. Did you take those years off after high school like you said you were going to? What have you been doing? How much have I missed?_

_I don’t expect a reply, but I wanted to let you know I was thinking of you._

_Thoughtfully,_

_Sly_

_PS I really hope I’m not coming across as creepy.”_

 

         Satisfied, he sealed the letter and wrote her name on the back. He didn’t have anything else to go by; her family had always been moving around to follow her father’s work, her addresses changing on what could be a monthly basis.

         He was staring at the envelope, contemplating it, when Bentley burst into the room. Badly startled, he jerked around, tail fluffing indignantly.

         “Whoa, where’s the f-?”

         “Don’t say anything, just come with me!” the turtle ordered, spinning away in a fit of excitement before he had finished.

         “Slow down, Bentley, you’re going to leave skid-marks!” Sly laughed, stuffing the envelope into his pocket and rushing out of the room. What could possibly have the genius so riled up? He had been disheartened lately, having hit a snag with his time machine. Something about not being able to properly calibrate an exact date for traveling. Maybe he had figured it out.

         Distracted by idle thoughts, Sly wasn’t aware he was caught until it was too late. The arms encircled his torso like bands of iron, strong and unyielding. They crushed the breath from his lungs and his ribs creaked in warning. His feet dangled a good two feet from the ground. He barely managed to get his arms free, throwing them around his captor’s shoulders and squeezing.

         “You’re home! You’re home!” Murray cheered. He smelled like airplane peanuts and crayons. “I missed you so much!”

         “I missed you, too, big guy,” he grinned, tail whisking happily.

         “You get in here too, Bentley!” Sly yelped a laugh as he felt the turtle collide with his back, swept up into the hippo’s massive grip by his long reach. A green hand reached around him to grip Murray’s sleeve, its twin at Sly’s back. The raccoon gave a long purr.

         The Cooper Gang, together again.

         “I missed you guys so much,” Murray murmured into the top of Sly’s head. The raccoon closed his eyes, content to be sandwiched between the two people he loved most in the world.

         After a long moment of being hugged (read, crushed), Murray set them gently on the ground. He rested an enormous hand on each of their shoulders, like he was afraid they would disappear if he didn’t.

         “It’s so great to see your faces.” Sly laughed at the statement, feeling absurdly giddy, like he was a bottle of uncorked champagne, the fizz rushing around and bursting inside of him. “You have to tell me _everything_ that’s been going on!” Murray’s stomach gave a loud gurgle and he quickly amended his words. “You have to tell me everything _after_ we eat!”

         They decided to make pizza bites using some biscuits, each one claiming their own set of toppings: veggies for Bentley, mozzarella and basil for Sly, and whatever-could-fit-on-it for Murray. While they waited for the pizzas to bake in the oven, Murray regaling them about his victories and how many cars he had smashed and the number of explosions he had caused. Bentley told him about his time machine and Sly leaned back against the counter, the delightful dizziness still affecting him.

         It could have been any other night at the hideout.

         “You ok, Sly?” Murray asked. The conversation had fallen silent, the other two’s attention turning to him. The raccoon smiled widely, eyes crinkling at the corners.

         “I’m fantastic, big guy.” He pushed himself upright and opened the oven, pulling out the tray of fresh pizzas with a stray rag. He set it down by Bentley, who used a spatula to get them onto their plates. “Just… overwhelmed, in a really good way.”

         Murray beamed at him, cramming a hot pizza in his mouth. Bentley scolded him and declared they would be eating in the common room, picking up the plates with his newly installed cybernetic arms and wheeling away. The hippo gulped down his food and blinked.

         “He looks like that one villain from the comic we used to read,” he commented, glancing at Sly. The raccoon giggled into his palm, not noticing the way the big man’s face became solemn.

         “Bentley told me what happened with Carmelita.” The laughter stopped like someone hitting a mute button. Sly turned his gaze on him, amber eyes dark and withdrawn.

         “Well…” The raccoon heaved a tired sigh. “Well, you were going to find out one way or another,” he murmured, scratching his arm. The burn was healing at a remarkable rate under Bentley’s care, but it helped that he was a quick healer. There were times, though, when he would wake up to shooting pains racing up into his chest and down into his fingertips, like the electricity was dancing over his skin all over again. The bandages had come off the other day, but the skin was still red and nasty looking, starting to peel away to reveal pink scars underneath. The bruises had settled on a lilac-blue color, the cut over his lip scabbed and rough.

         “Whether you lied to her or not, Carmelita had no right to do this,” Murray told him.

         “So Bentley keeps telling me,” Sly replied, adjusting his sleeve. The hippo dropped a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

         “Believe him.” He turned away, seriousness swapping out for his cheerfulness. It was a strategy the Guru had taught him: take care of what needed to be taken care of and then move on. Never dwell on what didn’t need to be dwelled on. “Now, c’mon! The pizzas are gonna get cold!”

         Shortly thereafter, the three men had finished their pizza and moved onto dessert. Murray had always made the most amazing hot chocolate in the world, rich and decadent and creamy. Tonight was no different. Sly sipped at the drink happily, half-reclining on the couch with his feet tucked against Bentley’s hip. The thick heat flowed down his throat and into his chest, spreading all over him like a blanket.

         “So, what’s it like being a cop?” Murray asked. He hummed thoughtfully, tapping his fingers against his mug.

         “Irritatingly slow,” he confessed. “I didn’t realize how many legalities there were when bringing someone in. Honestly, what we used to do in a few hours can take _weeks_. Simple things too, like getting photos for evidence or grabbing keys. And the _paperwork._ ” He shuddered theatrically.

         “Was it really that bad?” Bentley laughed, sounding unconvinced. "I think you're exaggerating."

         “Uh huh, yeah, let me walk you through the paperwork involved for a simple _parking ticket_.” The raccoon sat up and launched into his tale of woe, gesturing with a hand. The turtle listened, first in amusement, then sympathy, and then outright horror. Murray, meanwhile, let his eyes slip out of focus, keeping his gaze on his friends as they chatted, oblivious to his scrutiny.

         It had been a long time since he had read someone’s aura. It was one of his first lessons with the Guru, learning how to see without his eyes and more with his mind to see the unseen. It had hurt his brain to think about it at first, but the old koala was patient with him. It had quickly become a favorite pastime of his, observing the colors and glows surrounding people, affecting them with his own energy whenever someone needed a pick-me-up.

         Bentley’s aura was healthy orange-yellow, tinged with a pale yellow and a darkening metallic gold. No doubt because of his time machine (Murray didn’t even consider thinking about how he had managed to pull that one off). It radiated around the turtle like a small sun, dominating his person. There was another section, bright and pink and little bit red, just a little bit frayed around the edges, representing his relationship with Penelope. His center was weaving around in his head like usual, too full of ideas and emotion and energy to ever sit still. It showed how the turtle always thought (and sometimes overthought) before he acted and speaking for his incredible intelligence.

         He was healthy and he was happy, and Murray spent a moment basking in the warmth of the glow before turning to Sly. He easily held back a grimace at what he saw, already having prepared himself for something bad. The raccoon had been through a lot in the time he had been away, accumulating stress and worries, and it showed.

         Sly’s aura… It wasn’t just fragmented; it was shattered. Parts looked liked they had been ripped out and replaced with pieces that didn’t fit, shoved into place until they were forced to stay. Some of the foreign bodies had been ripped away, but were clinging to the edges of the raccoon’s aura, preventing the ones belonging there from taking their rightful positions.

         It reminded Murray of Frankenstein’s monster.

         Sly's aura was mostly bright red from his breakup with Carmelita, streaked with fading lemon yellow, but there were shades of lavender and royal blue and pale yellow close to his skin, beginning to branch out. His center was where it had always been, over his heart, and it glowed strongly, pushing away the red and bright yellow and reworking the tattered edges of light. Even after all he had been through, the raccoon had managed to protect it and now it was working tirelessly to repair the damage done, restore the colors back to deep red and orange and brilliant royal blue.

         _‘You are loved, you are safe, you are home,’_ Murray thought to his friend. The hippo’s own aura pulsed in response, transmitting the positive energy in a ripple. Sly looked to him and cocked his head, eyes full of curiosity. He didn’t possess the same skills as the hippo, but he was definitely sensitive to the more mysterious ways of the world and had felt something ruffle through his fur. Murray only flashed him a dopey grin and slurped up some of his hot chocolate, perking up when Bentley suggested they pull a heist.

         When the sun rose and finally reached its zenith, they had exhausted the conversation and themselves. They threw pillows and blankets into a heap on the floor and then happily threw themselves into it.

         Had Bentley’s time machine been in working order and they had set the date to fifteen years ago, they would have found three orphans curled up in a similar nest, asleep in a drafty little room of a rundown orphanage, content to know they had, at last, found their family again.


	6. It's Not a Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Au revoir- goodbye  
> Enigmé Soyeux – literally, Silky Enigma (because I'm lame like that)

* * *

         So, Sly was back in Paris.

         The petite raccoon reread the letter she had received, perched one of the stools at the kitchen table. Her silver-ringed tail, tipped with her lightest color (white-grey) instead of her darkest (pale pewter), swished next to her. She had just woken up, the night sky a dusky purple, and had yet to change out of her pajamas. She scrubbed a hand through her straight, rib-length white hair and shook it out before tying it up into a messy bun, holding the hair tie in her mouth.

         No doubt Sly would have his gang/family with him too, planning and working heists like they had before dropping off the radar roughly nineteen months ago.

         There had been a big to-do in the newspapers, the journalists scrambling. The Cooper Gang had always been a popular subject, and they had to find some other ongoing story to interest their readers. The tabloids had latched onto another regular in the world of crime, dubbing them the Ghost.

         She couldn’t make up her mind if she liked the name or not.

         Little was known about them. Gender, species, possible affiliations- it was like they didn’t exist, hence the catchy name. But their MO was always identifiable: exposing the criminal endeavors of those thought to be upstanding citizens and crushing any hopes for recovery in the process. A "haunting" from the Ghost was a death sentence.

         The name had influenced how she announced herself and inspired her to use a small ghost as a calling card. It was silly, it was cartoonish, and it terrified those who it was meant for, be it on a screen or stamped on some papers. She liked knowing people could recognize it and, despite her mixed feelings on the title itself, she liked having an alias.

         It was easier to differentiate between her civilian persona and the person she was while she was working when that person had a different name.

         _‘I swear, I’m going to end up driving myself mental one of these days.’_

         She sipped her tea, looking back down at the letter. She would have to watch her step now that there was someone else out there swimming in the same pond. She didn’t expect the Cooper Gang to give her any trouble, not even if they ran into each other. There was, however, the risk of one of them unknowingly getting in the way and the last thing she wanted to do was involve them. They had been through enough without her dragging them down into some mess or another.

         And yet….

         She bit her lip. Her blue eyes, the color of a winter sky, slipped to the stationery at her desk.

         It was just a letter, and it wouldn’t do any harm to see him….

         And so, Calia Shade penned a letter to Sly Cooper and tried very hard not to think about the consequences she was potentially inviting into his life.

**~***~**

         The Cooper Gang slipped into their old routine as easily as breathing. They made room for Penelope too, but the mouse politely avoided them, instead snuggling up with Bentley when she had the time and giving the other two their space. Bentley was nearly finished with his time machine, excited like he was awaiting the arrival of his first child. Sly and Murray teased him ruthlessly and supplied him with food, company, and ears to vent to when he needed it. Secretly, they were just as excited as the turtle to see how the project would turn out.

         They did force him to take breaks and spend time outside the lab, though. At one point, they had even begged him to put a heist together, and the temptation had been too much for him. They had pulled it a few days ago, stealing a series of white jade dragon statues. Each one had held a different colored, golf ball-sized pearl. They had been taken from a mountain temple lost to the passage of time, by a wannabe archaeologist turned looter. They exposed his actions and left a neat trail of evidence that would bring Interpol straight to him. Then they packaged the statues, sending them to Jing and Maylin as a belated wedding gift.

         Leaving his calling card on the shelf where the statues had once sat…. Sly hadn’t been able to stop grinning for the rest of the night. Guilt had burned in the back of his throat when he thought of how Carmelita would react to finding it, but…

         It had felt too good to want to stop.

         Murray had even gotten to crack some skulls, the wild glee in his eyes flaring bright from his facemask, the tassels on his red gloves swaying with each punch. Bentley had been calmer about the experience, but he had gotten the chance to refresh his hacking skills; he later confessed they had been craving a much-needed work out.

         Presently, the trio was in the common room a week after being reunited. Murray was whacking away at the buttons of their arcade game, pouting as he missed the high score by a few hundred points. Bentley was scribbling down notes on an already covered piece of paper. Sly had just come in from the balcony where he had been watering the plants, leaving the watering can by the door.

         “How goes it?” he asked, coming up behind the turtle and peering down at his work. The page was nearly black with numbers and letters and formulas that made Sly’s head spin.

         “It goes,” the genius grunted, scratching something out and rewriting it. “Can you do me a favor and grab the stuff I put in the kitchen this morning? I need them.” Nodding, the raccoon did as he was bid, picking up the stack and returning to the turtle. Bentley rifled through it and paused, blinking.

         “Oh, I almost forgot I put the mail in here.” He pulled out a bundle of envelopes, sorting them into a pile. “Murray’s comic book subscriptions, my membership renewal for ThiefNet, a _Thank You_ from Jing and Maylin… Oh, Sly.” He offered an envelope to the raccoon. “You got a reply to your letter.” The raccoon blinked.

         “I didn’t mail any letters.”

         “Yeah, you did. You were writing it the day Murray came home.” He gave the turtle a blank look, taking the envelope. “You had it in your pocket and almost ran it through the wash.” He frowned. Then he went white.

         “You sent that?”

         “Well, yeah.” Bentley rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought you just forgot to send it. I found the address and put it in the mailbox.”

         “I wrote that just to write it.” He flipped it over and, sure enough, the return address was stamped with Calia’s name.

         The turtled laughed nervously, trailing off at the stricken look on Sly’s face. The raccoon was holding the envelope like it might come alive and attack him. Murray walked over to peer over his shoulder.

         “Doesn’t matter what you sent now. There’s nothing to do but read it,” he shrugged.

         “It’s probably a restraining order,” Sly groaned, slicing the envelope open with the letter opener Bentley handed him. “It’s gotta be a restraining order. I just know it.” He pulled out the folded sheet. “Ugh, I feel like I sent her a page from my diary.” Pressing his lips together, he unfolded the paper and met not the angry, too-formal type of paperwork, but an actual letter.

         Calia had replied to him.

_“Dear Sly,_

_Let me start by saying you aren’t being creepy at all. Enigmatic is a much better word. I was surprised to get your letter in the mail, but don’t think you’ve chased me away with the small novel you sent me. I do now, as I did before, love a good story._

_When I wrote to you last, I expected it to be the last letter we would ever share. It feels good to be proven wrong and I don’t say that lightly, because I hate being proven wrong. It makes me feel good to know you haven’t forgotten me, and I can truthfully say I haven’t forgotten you either. It helps that your name is in the paper so frequently, but there are moments of quiet in which I can’t help but wonder what you’re doing. (Now I’m being creepy, so we’re even.)_

_I never expected you to be so busy in just five years! Life came at you hard and fast; don’t be afraid to take a break now and then, to rest when you feel you need it. You’ve earned it._

_I only took a year off before college, actually. I traveled a lot, learned how to speak a few languages (German is way easier than people seem to think it is), took some workout classes, volunteered a bit, and just generally explored. I finally settled on a nice little community college, taking classes in areas that interested me instead of drowning in a sea of students in a lecture hall. You can imagine how my parents felt about that._

_I’m traveling around now, doing appraisal of paintings and artifacts and the like, mostly for private collectors. You would be surprised at the things people manage to amass._

_Actually, it’s what brought me here. I’m staying in Paris for what could be the next few months. You said you felt like you were stuck, so let’s get you unstuck. I vote for meeting at the_ Parc Monceau _, Friday, at 4am, near the Corinthian pillars around the lake._

_Hoping to see you there,_

_Calia_

 

         “Sly, I’m really sorry,” Bentley was saying. “I thought you meant to send the letter. I would never-”

         Sly stood and walked around the table to hug the turtle, cutting him off. A happy sigh escaped him and he tightened his grip.

         “Thank you,” he hummed. “Just… thank you.”

**~***~**

         “Well, how do I look?” Sly asked, holding out his arms. He was wearing a black jacket over a midnight blue button-down and a comfortable pair of jeans: nice, but casual. He retracted the hook of his cane and tucked the handle into his jacket’s hidden pocket; the polished wood was a reassuring weight against his chest.

         “Like you might be sick,” Murray told him, in the process of devouring a burrito of his own design, which usually meant there were chocolate bars and/or cookies with marshmallow fluff and honey tucked away in the tortilla roll. Sly rolled his eyes, inspecting himself in the mirror.

         “I thought you said this wasn’t a date.” He frowned at Bentley’s comment, fixing his hair.

         “It’s not a date.” Satisfied, he straightened. “But I haven’t seen Calia in years and I want to remake a good first impression.” The turtle held his hands up in surrender.

         “Then you look perfect,” he promised. Sly smiled and thanked him, making for the door.

         “I’m off then. I’ll see you when I see you.”

         The _Parc Monceau_ wasn’t far from the hideout, about fifteen minutes at an easy stroll. It was five passed four when he arrived at the Corinthian pillars, chewing the inside of his cheek and scanning the area.

         There was a young woman standing in the center of the path, looking at the pond stretched out in front of them to reflect the cloud-patched night sky. Sly’s heart gave a hard thump as he approached her.

         “Calia? Calia Shade?” he tried, stopping about ten feet away. She started a little at the sound of her name and turned to him.

         She hadn’t changed. Well, she had, but she hadn’t at the same time.

         Her blue eyes, less wide, a little narrower now, were the same color, like a cloudless winter sky. The face had exchanged baby roundness for matured, elfin features. Her hair was longer, falling halfway down her torso, but was the same color of pearly starlight. It was loose instead of braided, a few wisps framing her cheeks. Her mask and tail rings were inky silver, only a little darker than her moonlight colored pelt. She wore an ankle-length, skirt and a black tee shirt under a tan corset tied with black laces. It hugged the curves of her small breasts, which almost surprised him; the Calia of his memories was always flat chested. A strip of leather with a dragon’s breath opal pendant gleamed around her neck, and there was a messenger bag over her shoulder. Her nails were unpainted, and her fingers were free of rings.

         She was so familiar. She was so new.

         “…You aren’t wearing shoes again.” Her face split into a wide grin and laughter rushed out of her as she dropped onto a bench, patting the space next to her in invitation.

         “I really should put them on, but I was walking through the grass. It just felt so nice,” she admitted, knocking her toes together. He sat next to her and she turned to him, eagerness plain on her face. There was mascara on her eyelashes, he noted, and pink lip stain on her mouth, but nothing more. “It’s been a long time, Sly.”

         “It has been a very long time, Calia,” he agreed.

         “I have to know: how on earth did you find me?” She gave a little shake of her head, eyes both puzzled and amused.

         “My friend, Bentley, he’s something of a computer whizz, so he looked you up for me,” Sly told her. The fact that sending the letter had been an accident would, for now, remain unknown.

         “The things you can do with modern technology,” she laughed. “I’m glad you found me, and I’m glad I was already in Paris.”

         “Yeah, what brings you here?” he asked, resting an arm over the back of the bench. "Last I heard, you were in China."

         “There’s a new wing at a private museum that I’m dying to check out.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a brochure, offering it to him. “It helps that my dad’s company is helping to fund the opening, so he sent me an all-access pass.”

         “I forgot about your family’s company. Shade Enterprises, right?” She hummed an affirmative.

         Shade Enterprises was a private company that worked with a manner of people in a menagerie of fields, from science to archaeology to agriculture. They did research, funded investigations, renovated historical buildings by working with private investors from all over the world. Calia’s father, Ambrogio Shade, had started it as young man, and it had grown into a sizeable organization under his leadership. Calia used to talk about it frequently in her letters until she simply stopped, never offering an explanation.

         “Do you work for the company?” Her eyes flashed momentarily with an emotion gone too quickly for him to name. She shook her head.

         “No, but I’m not above looking into things if I’m in town. They’re usually pretty interesting.”

         “Do you know what it’s going to exhibit?” Again, she shook her head.

         “It’s really hush-hush right now. The owner isn’t keen on giving away too many details to people who aren’t directly involved, not even the name of his sponsor. But reliable sources tell me it has something to do with the history of thieving.” Sly’s ear flicked up interestedly.

         “Sounds like something up my alley,” he grinned. Her answering expression was surprisingly contemplative, her lips pressing together and her eyes narrowing a little. “What’s that look for?”

         “I’m looking at the kit I once knew,” she replied. “Matching him up with the man he is and the one he said he would be. They’re overlapping quite nicely.” She tipped her head to one side a little, eyes roaming his face. “I just noticed that both are scraped up.”

         Sly touched his jaw with a half-hearted smile, looking out between the pillars. His arm had healed to the point where fur was starting to grow back, a little lighter than before. The bruises on his face were greenish-yellow in hue, the cuts scabbed over and hidden under his pelt.

         “Messy breakup,” he said finally. She hummed and looked away.

         “You talked a little about Carmelita. I know about her from the papers, and that you two were dating up until a few weeks ago. How did you two meet?”

         “The opera.” Sly could stop himself from laughing at the sweet memory. “She caught me on the roof. I had only been in Paris a couple of days, so I picked up a map and started walking around to get my bearings. She was in charge of guarding the soprano's prized necklace, the Diva Diamond. It was the very first job of her career and the first unofficial one of mine. I left her a calling card and she’s been on my tail ever since.”

         “Fun stuff.” Calia folded her hands in her lap, picking a bit at one of her nails. “I’m sorry it didn’t end so fun.”

         “It happens,” he sighed. “Especially in my line of work.”

         “How is your line of working going these days? Or should I not ask?” He had always told her he was going to be a master thief, so the inquiry didn't surprise him. She had never expressed any discomfort when he talked about it, but they had been younger then and it had only been a dream.

         “I’m getting back into it,” he told her, deciding to avoid too many details. Nonetheless, he would be truthful. “I worked a job with Bentley and Murray not to long ago, but we’re always looking around for more opportunities. I’m a bit of a workaholic,” he confessed wryly.

         “Nothing wrong with that, as long as it’s something you love.” She toyed with the ends of her hair and crossed her legs. “I’m jealous. Your life is so exciting. It makes me feel boring.”

         “You aren’t boring at all,” he assured her, voice sincere. Her blue eyes reflected the moonlight when she smiled and he found himself returning it, tail giving a happy flick.

         They talked for hours, relearning each other, adding to the people they had constructed from memories. Sly told her about the Italian bistro he couldn’t live without and their delicious Alfredo breadsticks. She pointed him in the direction of a little bridge arching over a pond where she stopped to feed the koi now and then. They got to walking around the park in endless circles, purchasing a light meal from a kiosk run by a bat when it started to get late. Eventually, a pale light started filtering over the park, the nocturnal walkers heading home for the day.

         “This was something I never expected to happen, but I’m so glad it did,” Sly said. They were approaching the exit, steps slow and short, delaying the inevitable.

         “We should do this again,” Calia hummed, looking up at him. Her blue eyes seemed darker in the early dawn light, her fur whiter. “Letters are wonderful, but it just doesn’t beat face to face, and we aren’t halfway across the world anymore.”

         “Agreed.”

         “How about dinner, next week?” she offered. “I would love to meet your gang.”

         “Dinner sounds wonderful. Have you heard of the _Enigmé Soyeux?_ ”

         “Who hasn’t heard of the most popular club in the city?”

         “Well, my gang and I are friends with the owner.” Now that Sly thought about it, it would give him an excuse to meet up with the lounge lizard, too. He hadn’t seen Dimitri since the vault job.

         “I hear he’s a little eccentric.” She raised an eyebrow at him in silent askance, folding her hands behind her back.

         “Yeah, Dimitri can be a little….” He had too many memories of the iguana shoving brightly colored outfits at them and dancing obnoxiously to blaring music. “He can be a lot,” he rephrased. “But he means well.”

         They were at the exit now, their meeting at an end. They stopped to face each other, staying quiet for a few moments.

         “It was wonderful to see you,” he told her. They shook hands, grips lingering. “And I’m looking forward to doing it again.”

         “Likewise.” She turned away, fingers slipping from his palm. “Take care of yourself, Sly. _Au revoir.”_

         “ _Au revoir,_ Calia.” He watched as she walked under a street lamp, the light flashing off her smile when she looked back to wave over her shoulder. She disappeared on the other side not a second later, pearly fur blending with the gray light of dawn. He put his hands in his pockets and started his own trek back home, feeling light and strangely bubbly.

         He owed Bentley a stack of science magazines and a new opera CD for sending that letter.

**~***~**

         “So?” Bentley purred when Sly walked in back into the hideout. “How’d it go?”

         “It wasn’t a date,” he reminded him. “But it was wonderful. She doesn’t think I’m a creep, she’s grown up so much, and she wants to meet you guys for dinner.”

         “Really?” Murray perked up at the mention of food. “Did she say where she wants to go? Did she say what kind of food she likes?” A lot could be told about a person by what food they liked, in the hippo’s opinion.

         “I suggested Dimitri’s new club. And she likes noodles and anything she can put on or in pita bread, which she claims is everything.” He pulled off his jacket and hung it up. “How does next week sound?”

         “Sounds great,” Bentley declared. “I’ll ask Penelope if she wants to come too.”

         “Ask me if I want to come where?” The mouse walked into the room, Bentley’s RC car and its remote cradled in her arm.

         “To _Enigmé Soyeux_ ,” Murray filled her in. “Sly met his old friend, Calia, and she wanted to go out to dinner.

         “Oh.” Penelope blinked and glanced at Sly. “You sure got over Carmelita fast.” The raccoon jerked, unable to keep the incredulous look off his face.

         “It wasn’t a date,” he told her. It was his catchphrase today, apparently. “Neither is next week. And, frankly, I don’t think my relationship with Calia is any of your business.” The mouse had the decency to blush and look away, but the damage was done. Sly was once more guilt-tripping over his vixen ex, wondering for the thousandth time if he could have made things work out, and if he was some how betraying her again by seeing Calia.

         “…She invited all of us, Penny,” Bentley said, breaking the awkward silence. “She wants to meet us.”

         “Oh,” the mouse repeated, spinning the back wheel of the RC car. “I’ll see if I have the time. Things are really picking up in the club.” She looked up at Sly. “Sorry about my comment. I wasn’t thinking.” He nodded but made no answer, mulling over Calia and Carmelita and doubting himself at every turn of his thoughts.

         He went to bed, buried his face in his pillow, and decided breakups were painful, reunions were delightful, and having the two coincide was the worst experience in the world.

**~***~**

         It wasn’t a complete disaster.

         Calia leaned back against her door, resting her head on the mirror covering it. She hadn’t scared Sly away, and she held a conversation without it drifting into dangerous territory. She did feel bad about suggesting they have dinner with his gang, but she wanted to see their faces so she could recognize them and avoid them if their paths crossed.

         And she really did want to meet the people Sly had chosen to be his family. They were probably amazing.

         Sighing, she pushed herself upright. A bell-like ding from her laptop summoned her attention. She meandered over to it, unlacing her corset while she opened the screen.

 

**1 new message from _Radical Orpheus_ to _Eurydice Bae_**

 

         She never should have let Matiz design their usernames. Never.

         _‘This is what you get for having a writer for a best friend,’_ she reminded herself, clicking on her inbox. The chat-room window popped up and she propped her chin up on her fist to read it.

**Radical Orpheus messaged:** _how was ur date?_

 

         She pursed her lips and clacked an answer.

**Eurydice Bae sent:** _it wasn’t a date_

**Radical Orpheus replied:** _just because u didn’t call it a date doesn’t mean it wasn’t a date_

**Radical Orpheus replied:** _ur in Paris, the city of love I think any meeting between two people has to be called a date when ur there it’s the law or something_

 

         She scowled at the screen. Another message popped up.

**Radical Orpheus replied:** _don’t frown so hard ur face will get stuck :D_

 

         Damn Matiz for knowing her so well.

**Radical Orpheus replied:** _I demand details_

**Eurydice Bae sent:** _you aren’t getting any_

**Radical Orpheus replied:** _u went to the_ Parc Monceau, _right?_

**Radical Orpheus replied:** _with ur old friend? did he keep u waiting? what did u wear? what did he wear? u said he was a cute kid did he grow up to be hot?_

**Eurydice Bae sent:** _what part of “you aren’t getting any details” was lost in the translation?_

**Radical Orpheus replied:** _does he have a cute ass? don’t lie I know u looked u love a nice man-butt_

**Eurydice Bae sent:** _I’m literally going to kill you_

**Radical Orpheus replied:** _so he does have a cute ass –thumbs up-_

 

         Calia growled at the screen, face burning, ears low.

**Radical Orpheus replied:** _are you gonna see him agin?_

**Radical Orpheus replied:** _again?*_

**Eurydice Bae:** _if I tell you, will you stfu?_

**Radical Orpheus replied:** _yes :D_

**Eurydice Bae:** _I’m meeting him and his friends at the_ Enigmé Soyeux _next week for dinner_

**Radical Orpheus replied:** _-pterodactyl screech-_

 

         A sputter of laughter escaped her. Matiz never failed to make her smile just by being his normal self. Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t seen his face in almost three months and it was starting to weigh on her. She missed the way his yellow eyes lit up when he had an idea, how one ear would lift higher than the other when he was thinking. She even missed the messy sweep of his black mane when he stayed up too late. The wolf was one of the few people she managed to maintain a relationship with, and she allowed herself a moment to miss him desperately.

         She let said moment die in agony when she read his next message.

**Radical Orpheus replied:** _wear the black dress I made u buy ;) u look sexy af in it u can woo any man_

**Eurydice Bae sent:** _I’m meeting his family! AND I’M NOT TRYING TO WOO HIM_

**Radical Orpheus replied:** _u don’t need to_ try _to woo him just sayin’_

**Eurydice Bae sent:** _he just broke up with his girlfriend I’m not going to flirt_

**Radical Orpheus replied:** _ok_ _ur right_

 

         He was growing up.

         _Ding._

         Or maybe not.

**Radical Orpheus replied:** _wait until he gets over her and then flirt_ _XD_

**Eurydice Bae sent:** _why did you message me? Do you have something important to tell me, or did the plot bunnies attack you again?_

**Radical Orpheus replied:** _;A; u r cruel to me_

 

         There was no reply. Then-

 **Radical Orpheus replied:** _I did some asking around for u_

_the owner of the museum ur scoping? He’s got a rep not a lot of people know about it and he goes out of his way to keep it secret_

_his record is sealed because he was a minor when he was arrested, but I have no doubt u’ll be able to unseal it_

 

         A shiver rocked through her and she reeled. No, no, Matiz was not, could not, _would_ not be getting involved. He knew about her, and that was bad enough.

         But _researching_ for her?

**Eurydice Bae:** _MATIZ_

**Radical Orpheus replied:** _it’s not a lot, but I hope it helps_

**Eurydice Bae:** _I’ve told you to STAY OUT OF IT_

**Radical Orpheus:** _well I didn’t_

**Radical Orpheus:** _:P_

**Radical Orpheus:** _does it help?_

**Eurydice Bae:** …

**Eurydice Bae:** _It does. Thank you_

**Eurydice Bae sent:** _I owe you one_

**Radical Orpheus replied:** _u can pay me back by wearing that black dress to the club :D_

**~***~**

         Penelope, when asked again, did not have the time to go to the club with them to meet Calia. Her club president had signed them up for a RC tournament in the States, confident on their ability to crush the competition. The Cooper Gang, all appropriately disguised, went to the airport to see her off.

         “I’m going to miss you so much,” Penelope crooned, wrapping her arms around Bentley. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with me? There's a spot left. With our combined skills, we would be unstoppable!”

         “I’m sure, Penny,” the turtle chuckled. “You have fun at the tournament, ok?”

         “Oh, don’t worry, I will,” she promised, yellow glasses gleaming as she adjusted them. “I’m going to go make myself a queen.” Bentley chuckled, kissed her once last time, and watched her walk away.

         Unbeknownst to him, traveling through security was only for his benefit. The moment she passed it, she was met by two unassuming rats. Their faces were hidden by surgeon’s masks, eyes sharp and cold like scalpels. They fell into step behind her, keeping a respectful distance. The mouse ignored them, marching through the terminal, until she walked out of the airport and onto the backstreet behind it.

         A sleek white limo pulled up, door opening for her. Ducking her head, she slipped inside, and they sped off.

         _“Bonjour, Mademoiselle Muis.”_ The vivid green eyes of her “club president” gleamed from the dim interior, his French accent thick and smooth as tar. “I trust you have completed your end of our bargain?” She nodded.

         “Bentley still hasn’t been able to complete his time machine, and he hasn’t noticed the notes I stole. He just thinks he misplaced them.” She crossed her legs and tossed her hair, smirking. “By the time he finishes, it’ll be too late for Cooper to convince him to do anything to help.”

         “ _Magnifique!”_ Eyes burning, the Frenchman addressed the whole “club:” a hulking elephant squeezed next to an ugly armadillo, a militant tiger protecting his space with crossed arms and planted feet, and a bear who looked like he had sipped a little too much champagne. And her, the petite mouse. “Then we may set out with the next favorable winds.” The five nodded. Penelope touched her pocket, where she had tucked a picture of her and Bentley. She hoped he would see reason soon enough.

         And, if he didn’t, that she would be the one to remove Cooper’s poisonous influence from his life.

         Meanwhile, Sly gave a sudden shiver and felt as if someone had poured ice into his blood. Across town, Calia frowned at her laptop and wondered why the museum’s anonymous sponsor had elected to give temporary control of the proceedings to a secondary party for the next few weeks.

         Decades, centuries, and millennia away, five branches of the same family tree had no idea what was coming for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry I keep posting late. I was sick earlier this morning and didn't even feel like moving until late this afternoon. ;A; Apologies for the wait.


	7. Meeting the Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: nadda
> 
> Translations:  
> (none, carry on)

         A line stretched down the sidewalk from the club’s entrance, but Dimitri had assured them he had reserved a booth for his “bestie bros and their lady friend.” They parked the van in an obscured alleyway and made their way over.

 

         The _Enigmé Soyeux_ was the most popular club in down, open as a wild paradise to anyone allowed entrance. Lights flashed from the club’s interior, pulsing green and blue and purple then pink and orange and yellow, music spilling out onto the street to draw people in. An imposing bouncer stood outside, checking people in, turning others away.

 

         They saw Calia waiting for them, idly bouncing to the beat. She was wearing shoes this time, Sly noted wryly, a comfortable pair of metallic gray flats that matched her lipstick and her nails. Her sleeved black dress was simple but stunning. It flowed from her hips, belted at the waist, the sweetheart neckline accented by an intricate silver necklace.

 

         “You wore shoes this time!” he greeted. She rolled her eyes, but there was a smirk plucking at the corners of her mouth.

 

         “Only to impress your friends,” she said, nodding to them. Sly took his cue.

 

         “Calia, this is Bentley and Murray,” he introduced. “Guys, this is Calia.”

 

         “Pleasure to meet you,” she hummed.

 

         “The feeling is mutual,” the turtle replied, shaking her hand offered.

 

         “Your dress is really gorgeous,” Murray complimented.

 

         “Thank you,” she smiled. One point to Matiz for the black dress, not that she would ever tell him. She gestured to the entrance of club. “Shall we?”

 

         The bouncer consulted his clipboard briefly before lifting the rope to let them in. They were led to a cozy private table where they had easy access to both the dance floor and the bar. They were given menus by a downright pretty squirrel waiter with electric blue streaks in his hair and tail, who told them Dimitri passed on his regards. Shortly after, they put in their order and turned to each other for conversation.

 

         “So, Sly tells me you three have been together since you were eight,” Calia began. “How’d all that happen?”

 

         “Well, as you probably know, we grew up in the same orphanage,” Bentley started. She gave a single nod. “And we sort of came together by accident. Sly was a scary kid, so-”

 

         “I was not a scary kit,” Sly interrupted, frowning.

 

         “You were dark and you liked to brood,” Bentley insisted. “And you would sit by the window and just watch people.”

 

         “The older kids were afraid of you,” Murray added. He stuffed a crostini into his mouth, remembering to chew and swallow before speaking again. “Because you beat the stuffing out of them. Only the bullies though,” he assured Calia. “When they took toys and things from the younger kids. He would steal them back.”

 

         “You did?” She sounded impressed, shooting the darker-furred raccoon an admiring look. “That was very noble of you, Sly.”

 

         And Sly did something he had only done a handful of times in his life.

 

         He blushed, from cheek to cheek, a deep pink, visible through his fur. He felt very… uncomfortable all of a sudden, in a strangely good way, thrown off his game by the sincere compliment, and he looked to his hands.

 

         “Th-Thanks,” he stuttered. Stuttered? _What?_ He cleared his throat. “Anyone would have done it, though. I just beat them to the punch.” He risked a glance in time to see blue eyes crinkle at the corners and gray-painted lips curve into an impish sort of smile, half-hidden by a sip from her water.

 

         “Of course.” Murray and Bentley were giving him both amused and incredulous looks. He never blushed, never stuttered, never lost the aura of cool he surrounded himself with. Calia turned back to the hippo and the turtle. “So, he beat up the bullies and…?” she prompted.

 

         Sly was content to listen as his brothers recounted the tale, staying silent for the most part. He supposed they were right in their characterization of his younger self. He had been consumed with thoughts of restoring the _Thievius Raccoonus_ , of vengeance, of morbid curiosity toward the direction of his future. He would stay away from the other children, convinced if he formed attachments, they too would be lost to him. He had been certain he was cursed, doomed to destroy and perhaps even end the lives of those he cared about. Thoughts turning toward the more recent past, he recalled Bentley’s grievous injuries at Clock-La’s jaws, Murray’s shattered spirit, the tears mixed in with the rage in Carmelita’s eyes, tracing his fingertip through the condensation lining his glass.

 

         Perhaps he was cursed…

 

         He heard Murray tell Calia about how he saved both him and Bentley from a group of bullies and rolled his eyes. The hippo made him out to be some sort of hero, swooping in to save them when all hope appeared lost. In truth, he had been consumed by rage at the sight of the younger children at the mercy of the older, much larger children. It had reminded him sickeningly of the five shadows looming over his father, who seemed so tiny in comparison. His lips tightened.

 

         Calia caught the change in expression out of the corner of her eye. Nodding to show Murray she was listening, she flicked her tail against his leg under the table. When he looked up, she tilted her head in silent askance. He chuckled silently in response and shrugged his shoulders.

 

         “After we found out he was supposed to bunk with us, we decided to make it up to him,” Bentley was finishing. “And we just sort of stuck together.”

 

         “And then I found out about the cookies Ms. Puffin took from the kids,” Sly picked up, grinning. The furrow between his amber eyes had disappeared, soothed away by the sweet memory. Calia found herself fascinated by the warm content in his eyes, like the glow of a candle. “And we became the unofficial Cooper Gang.”

 

         “Man, those cookies were good,” Murray reminisced, almost drooling. Their meal arrived then and the conversation slowed.

 

         “So what brings you to Paris, Calia? Do you call this home?” Bentley asked.

 

         “Well, I’m from the States originally, but I love Europe. Paris is one of my favorite cities, right up there with London and Dublin,” she told him between bites of her pasta. “And, uh,” she looked sheepish, “I took the job offer on a whim. I’m actually hiding out here right now. Issues at home.”

 

         “So the pass your dad sent you was an apology,” Sly surmised. She nodded and took a bite of pasta, chewing determinedly. The raccoon could see her searching for some new topic (family wasn’t going to cut it in a group of orphans), and decided to help her out. “You mentioned liking Dublin and London?”

 

         “All the countryside in England and Ireland, actually.” Her eyes shone with gratitude. “The cities are amazing, but there’s just… something in the country air. It’s so peaceful, and peace and quiet is important to me when I’m not working.” She looked between the three of them. “You guys ever been?”

 

         “No, the closest we ever got was Wales,” Bentley informed her. “And the Welsh Triangle.”

 

         “Sir Raleigh the Frog and his infamous storm machines.” Calia twirled the pasta around her the tines of her fork with a practiced hand.

 

         “Uh, yeah, actually.” Murray blinked at her. “How do you know about him?”

 

         Calia opened her mouth to answer, but, before she could, they were interrupted.

 

         “ _Raccoonus Doodus!_ ” Sly’s ears snapped up at the hail. Only one person used that moniker to refer to him…

 

         “Dimitri,” he greeted, standing to grip the iguana’s hand, only to be pulled into a hug.

 

         “Returned to us at last from the place of no return!” Dimitri gushed. He hadn’t changed at all, save for slicking his head spines to stand up and forward instead of back. He wore his signature outfit: a red wife beater under a murky green suit jacket with matching pants, fingers covered in large rings and neck looped in gold chains, a diamond bracelet winking from his wrist. He let Sly go, one hand on his shoulder, a martini glass held in the other. “Ya look good, my dude. Almost as good as me!”

 

         “Thanks, Dimitri,” Sly laughed, giving a little shake of his head. “It’s nice to see you again.”

 

         “So, what brings you bros to my dance floors?” the iguana asked, gesturing to the club around them.

 

         “Personal business,” the raccoon explained, nodding to Calia. “Dimitri, this Calia. She’s an old friend.”

 

         “Not that old,” she protested. “Dimitri Lousteau, right?” At the lounge lizard’s surprise, she gave a smile. “Your reputation precedes you.”

 

         “Uh…” The complete look of shock on Dimitri’s face was almost comical. “‘Scuse me.” He gestured for Bentley and Murray to follow him and they got up, confused. “No, no, you stay,” he ordered Sly when the raccoon showed signs of following. “Pardon da intrusion,” the iguana apologized to Calia, herding the other two away. Sly and Calia blinked, and the raccoon-ness turned to the other with an eyebrow raised. He could only shrug.

 

         “I did warn you.”

 

         On the other side of the room, the lounge lizard was in the midst of interrogating Bentley and Murray.

 

         “Who is that fine goddess you bros be talkin’ with?” Dimitri demanded.

 

         “An old friend of Sly’s,” Murray told him, dancing in place to the music. “Her name is Calia. She’s really nice.”

 

         “Now, we talkin’ friend or are we talkin’ _friend_?” the iguana asked, bouncing his eyebrows suggestively.

 

         “No, no, they’re just friends, without the emphasis,” Bentley insisted.

 

         “Just friends now,” Dimitri purred, sipping from his martini. “More than that later. My senses are a-tingly with potential.” He looked over their shoulders, pointing. “Look, turtle bro. Do your thing.”

 

         “Why? There isn’t anything there to see,” Bentley argued lightly, frowning.

 

         “Then prove me, the DJ with da sex appeal, wrong,” the iguana purred, tracing a ring-covered finger around his martini glass.

 

         Bentley’s frown deepened. He was rarely, if ever, wrong. Given his past, he had about a one point fifty-three percent chance of being wrong. Even armed with this knowledge, he did not like being doubted. So, he did as he was told, looking back at the two raccoons, convinced he wouldn’t find anything unusual- just two friends getting reacquainted. But after a few moments, he was shocked to find that Dimitri actually might be right.

 

         Maybe it was one point fifty-four…

 

         Sly and Calia’s body language was in tune: they both leaned across the table, not just so they could hear each other over the thumping music, but because they were genuinely interested by what the other had to say. Eye contact was maintained easily without underlying currents of aggression; neither felt the need to assert dominance. Shadow and moonlight colored coats were unruffled, tails swaying gently at their sides in a pattern consistent with calmness and contentment.

 

         Sly suddenly tipped his head back, shoulders shaking with laughter they couldn’t hear. Calia rolled her eyes, fighting a smirk, saying something else. The master thief smiled, a little sweet smile, leaning forward to reply quietly. A moment of content silence passed between them as Sly watched the room while Calia watched him, sipping from her drink. There was a contemplative look on her face, mixed with affection and… something else. When Sly looked at her, curiosity on his face as he felt the weight of her gaze, she only shrugged, smiled, and pointed over to where he was watching them.

 

         Bentley looked away with red cheeks, feeling like an intruder.

 

         “Maybe your theory has… merit,” he acquiesced. Dimitri let out a triumphant whoop. “But Sly is getting over Carmelita still,” he warned. “Don’t go trying to push them together.”

 

         “Ah, the cold-hearted, fiery-furred Señorita Carmelita,” the iguana sighed, putting a hand over his heart. “She spewed lava like it was air to her lungs. How’s our man doin’?”

 

         “He’s getting over her, slowly but surely.” Bentley sighed. “He’s loved her for years, so it’s not like he’s going to work through everything in a month.”

 

         “He lay eyes on her since they did the amoeba split?” He shook his head.

 

         “It’s bound to happen though. She is, after all, an expert on us. It’s only a matter of time before she gets back on our case.” The lounge lizard nodded and stopped one of his waiters, a bat girl with a pixie haircut and bleached bangs.

 

         “Drinks for da table over there,” he ordered. “Red wine for da dude, and rosé for da dudette; make sure they’re both sweet. A chocolate milkshake with whipped cream and rainbow sugar for dis one. A Black Cow for dis one,” he added, nodding to Murray and Bentley respectively. “Put dem on da house.” She nodded and vanished into the kitchens.

 

         “You never do anything freely,” Bentley frowned, even as Murray thanked the club owner for the treat. Dimitri smirked, lifting his shoulders in a slow shrug.

 

         “If you bros need any assistance, call me first,” was all he offered. “As if anybody could forget to call da being dat is Dimitri,” he added, preening. “Goes back to your ringtails, bros. I must be groovin’ on my way.” Bentley and Murray did as he suggested. Sly noticed the thoughtful look on the turtle’s face and raised an eyebrow.

 

         “What did he want?”

 

         “You know, I’m not entirely sure.” The drinks came on a tray and they raised a lighthearted toast to the lounge lizard, who had vanished once more among the patrons of his club.

 

         “What did we miss?” Bentley asked them.

 

         “Sly was telling me that you’re having issues with a project.” Calia took a sip from her pink wine. “Care to share?” Bentley sighed.

 

         “Yeah, I’m just having some trouble with my time machine. I won’t bore you with the details, but it’s been driving me nuts.”

 

         “Time machine?” Calia echoed, raising her eyebrows.

 

         The turtle went rigid, realizing his slip. “Uh, I mean…”

 

         “For a story he’s writing. Some sci-fi shorty story competition,” Sly cut in smoothly, completely unruffled. Bentley latched onto the lie, nodding furiously.

 

         “Horrible case of writer’s block,” he assured the raccoon-ness emphatically. “Really, it’s bad. Can’t do a _thing_ about this story.”

 

         “Want some help?” she offered. “A close friend of mine is a writer and I’ve gotten good at helping him work through stuff.” Bentley looked over at Sly, who shrugged. It couldn’t hurt.

 

         “…I’ve misplaced the notes I made,” Bentley explained. That part was true. The turtle, usually so organized, had lost several pages of his notes, and no amount of searching by the three of them yielded any results. The genius had been downright distraught, unable to complete the project he had poured countless hours of effort into. “I could have sworn I wrote it down. And it’s set me _way_ back. It was all about how I was going to make the _completely fictional-_ ” Sly nearly face-palmed. Bentley had never been a particularly skilled liar and he usually overdid it “-time machine work. Like, how to calibrate it to a date.”

 

         “What’s the story about?” Calia asked. It was a totally innocent and completely reasonable question, but it made Bentley gape like a fish.

 

         “He based it off us,” Sly murmured to her, ensuring his voice was just loud enough for Bentley to hear. “The characters are a group of thieves.” Calia nodded and looked back to Bentley.

 

         “With a time machine?” The turtle nodded. “And the time machine doesn’t work?”

 

         “Not in a way I- _they_ can control it without blowing a hole in the space-time continuum,” he sighed. She propped her hand on her chin, thinking.

 

         “Well… if you’re basing the story off the work of master thieves,” they all smiled at the indirect compliment, “why don’t you have them steal something to make it work? Like…” She hummed thoughtfully. “They steal an necklace from, I don’t know, the Victorian period and then they can choose to go to the year it was made.”

 

         The turtle stared off into space for a long moment, mouthing the words to himself.

 

         “It…” He squinted at nothing, doing calculations in his head. The other three watched him, almost seeing the gears turn in his brain. “It could work,” he murmured, sounding dazed. “It could _actually_ work.” His gaze snapped back on to Calia. “If I didn’t have a girlfriend, I think I would kiss you.” She grinned and lifted her glass to him.

 

         “You did all the work, but I’m glad I could help.” She sipped from her wine again. “A girlfriend, you said? What’s she like?”

 

         “Oh, yeah.” Bentley rummaged around in his shell and pulled out a picture. Calia took it, eyes softening at the sight of the turtle with the absent pink mouse sitting in his lap, a runway behind him. “Her name is Penelope. She couldn’t come tonight because she had a tournament to go to with her RC club. And- whoops!”

 

         In reaching for the picture, Bentley knocked his empty glass off the edge of the table. Sly reached for it instinctively, almost absentmindedly, only to find someone had moved faster.

 

         Calia’s hand was caught just above his own, already cradling the glass in her palm. Her fingers were thin and long for her hands, but shorter than Sly’s. His fingertips touched lightly to the spaces between her knuckles, running over silky fur, feeling rough skin underneath.

 

         Scars.

 

         He pulled his hand away a second later and cleared his throat.

 

         “Nice reflexes.” Calia jerked at his praise, coming back to herself with a nervous laugh.

 

         “It was luck,” she insisted, setting the glass on the table and staring at it. Her expression was troubled, strangely so, the set of her shoulders tense.

 

         Odd.

 

         Sly was about to comment on it, lifting a hand to touch her back, when she shook herself.

 

         “So, girlfriend named Penelope doing an RC tournament,” she recapped, looking to Bentley intently. “What was her club called again?”

 

         “Oh. It’s, uh…” The turtle frowned. “Uh…”

 

         “She never told us,” Murray cut in. Calia raised an eyebrow.

 

         “Really?”

 

         “I’m sure it just slipped her mind,” Bentley decided. Sly flicked his tail and quelled the strange foreboding starting to creep in on him.

 

         The conversation tapered off from there. A glance at a clock revealed it was nearly noon. Sunlight streamed through the cracks in the heavy blinds drawn over the windows, thick and golden, and they decided to call it a day.

 

         “I am so glad we did this,” Calia hummed, swinging her wristlet as they stepped out onto the sidewalk. “It was lovely meeting you all.”

 

         “Can we do it again sometime?” Murray asked shyly.

 

         “I would love to,” she answered. Something glinted in her blue eyes, something almost akin to sorrow, but it was gone before Sly could mention it. “There’s a fantastic noodle house I know. We can meet there for lunch, if you’re interested?”

 

         “You had me at noodle,” Murray grinned. She laughed.

 

         “It’s a date then.” She turned away, offering a small wave. “Enjoy the rest of your day!”

 

         “Bye,” they chorused, watching the petite raccoon-ness make her way down the street. They returned to their van and clambered in.

 

         “So?” Sly prompted, buckling his seat belt. “What did you think of Calia?”

 

         “I liked her!” Murray exclaimed, starting the engine and pulling out onto the road. “She… she’s got a good feeling around her, ya know?”

 

         “I agree with Murray,” Bentley added. “I can see why you two were friends as kids and I can see why you want to be friends again.”

 

         Sly grinned, looking out the window. The sun was almost at its zenith, the sky a deep blue, shot through with rays of gold. A blimp was floating just above the Eiffel Tower, its slow ascent almost lazy, like it was bored. The raccoon turned away from it, humming absently under his breath, remembering how blue Calia’s eyes had been under the flashing lights of the club.

 

         Had he been watching more closely, he would have seen the blimp disappear in a blur of light.


	8. All According to Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: some violence (ie breaking and entering, capture, things like that)
> 
> Translations:  
> Aisai – beloved wife  
> Jinbei – pajama type robes  
> Aijou – beloved daughter

_Japan_

_1603_

 

 

         The kitchen was warm from a long day of cooking, the washed dishes and bowls stacked to be put away. The lights were burning low now, casting warm shadows that licked along the wooden walls, fighting with the silver moonlight for dominance. The grills and stovetops lined against the right wall had cooled, the last guest having left an hour ago, and the preparations for the next day were nearly complete.

 

         Rioichi Cooper gave the grill one last scrub down, wiry muscles flexing underneath his dark russet fur and blue and white tunic. When he finished, his tan ringed tail gave a satisfied swish, and he spilled the bucket of gray water down the corner sink, where it rushed away to water the greenery outside.

 

         Nodding to himself, he turned to lean back against the counter, bronze eyes falling to the wooden table in the center of the kitchen. A raccoon-ness stood there, the sleeves of her lilac and grey _kimono_ rolled up as she sharpened a cleaver in a rhythmic motion. Her blonde fur, with its near white rings and mask, was ethereal in the dimness. A few wisps of hair were starting to escape her blonde bun, twisted up with the aid of a wooden butterfly comb. He admired her openly, lips curved in a warm smile.

 

         “Staring at me again, Rioi- _chan?”_ she sighed, looking up from her task. Her jade-colored eyes were every bit as fond as his. The sushi chef crossed his arms over his chest and shrugged.

 

         “Can you blame me, Sada?” he teased. She pursed her lips, but her eyes were bright; it looked like she was trying very hard not to laugh. “You are very distracting.”

 

         “Yes, well.” He grinned at the pale flush playing around the apples of her cheeks. “Let’s hope I don’t distract you from catching these.” She picked one of his knives; he tensed a little in preparation. “Careful, they’re sharp.”

 

         She threw the first to him with an easy, almost lazy flick of her wrist. It sped through the air, a flash of silver, only to come to an abrupt halt as Rioichi’s fingers curled around its hilt.

 

         “The knives aren’t the only things still sharp,” he observed. Sada chuckled, shaking her head at him. He picked up the fillet knife, balancing the hilt in the center of his palm. “I bet I could throw it from he-”

 

         _“No_ ,” his wife warned, raising an eyebrow at him, as if daring him to think otherwise. He hid a shiver. No wonder their sons always backed off when she gave them that look. “Not when there are people around to see.”

 

         “And when you’re the only one around to see, Sada?” He pushed away from the counter and walked to her, wrapping his arms around her waist. A slight hand settled on his forearms, a thumb stroking along his wrist. The red raccoon kissed the nape of her neck, letting his lips linger. “What then, _aisai?”_

 

         “Then you risk being challenged.” He hummed against her throat and opened his mouth to speak when a new voice chimed in from the left wall.

 

         “Mama, are you going to throw knives?” A young kit, their youngest child and only daughter, peered at them from the landing of the stairs, stretched on her toes to look over the banister. Dressed in her loose _jinbei_ , she was supposed to be getting ready for bed. Her red and pale brown fur, the same color as her father’s pelt, was washed and dried, her russet hair brushed and tied up. But she blinked with her mother's jade eyes, twisting her fingers together hopefully. “Can I help, Papa?” Rioichi could not resist them.

 

         “Not tonight, Akane, but you can hide my canes for me.” He nodded to the twin pieces of polished bamboo leaning against the base of the stairs, the symbols of his heritage. Akane beamed, rushing down the stairs and picking up one with reverence, despite it being almost twice her size. She rushed out from the kitchen and to the front entrance, where her parents knew she would tuck the cane under the carpet until it was to be used again.

 

         “Rioichi, she’s supposed to be in bed,” Sada murmured, turning in his arms to face him. He shrugged.

 

         “What’s a few more minutes?” Her jade eyes fell half-lidded, but they were amused and without reproach.

 

         “You spoil her,” she commented with a sigh, cuddling deeper into his embrace.He tugged the comb from her hair, letting it tumble down her back in a gold wave.

 

         “And you don’t?” He rested his chin on top of her head, tucking the comb into her pocket. “She’s our last child. It’s within our rights to spoil her a little.”

 

         “She will have to grow up sometime,” Sada sighed again, this time a little sad.

 

         “Soon enough,” he agreed. He gave a brief pause. “Her training…”

 

         “What about her training?” His wife went rigid, like stone.

 

         “Perhaps she should begin sooner.” He nosed her ears lightly. “You can’t deny that she’s showing skill already. And interest.”

 

         “She’s six, Rioichi, and has only been so for a month.”

 

         “Yes, but-”

 

         A loud series of bangs cut him off, shattering the stillness of the restaurant. Someone was at the front door, pounding hard on the wood. But the entire village knew their hours, meaning….

 

         Akane ran back into the room, jade eyes wide. Exchanging looks with Sada, Rioichi stepped back to catch her as she rushed to him.

 

         “Papa, there’s a big shadow outside,” she whispered. In a gentle rustle of fabric, Sada strode out of the room. Rioichi saw the telltale glint of metal in her palms and turned back to his daughter. “Papa, what’s happening? Where’s Mama going?”

 

         “Akane, go upstairs,” he ordered, gripping her shoulders. She blinked at him, and he touched her cheek lightly before pushing her away. “Now, _aijou._ Hide in your room.” She lingered, a whine escaping her. From the other room, Sada was speaking, falsely polite and cheerful. Rioichi’s eyes slipped from the direction of her voice to his youngest kit. “Akane-”

 

         His words were lost in a storm of shattering glass. Strange looking cylinders rolled across the floor, spewing noxious green gas with wild hisses. The front door burst open, squeaky voices filling in the space.

 

         He couldn’t hear Sada anymore.

 

         “Akane, _go!”_ The kit bounded up the stairs; Rioichi saw her anxious jade eyes flit to him as he picked up his cane. He sprinted through the secondary dining area, dodging tables, sitting pillows, stools, circling around the square bar when he entered the main room.

 

         Green mist swirling around his feet, thick and opaque. His throat seized and he coughed, clutching his chest. Wood exploded by his ear from an unseen blow and he rolled away, a horrid mistake as he inhaled more of the gas.

 

         He saw Sada stagger back from one of the silver casings, covering her mouth. Hacking, she dropped to her knees, her _kunai_ slipping from her limp hand. He saw her eyes roll, saw her fall to her side, saw the green flow over her body. Had he not been collapsing himself, thoughts hazing and sight blurring, he would have rushed to her. His cane slipped from his fingers and he dropped to his hands and knees, watching the floorboards melt and twist. He managed one weak crawl in her direction before he lost the strength to continue.

 

         _“Papa!”_ He lifted his head at the scream, feeling like some large, unseen hand was pressing him down. Akane was at the top of the stairs, the ones that overlooked the main room, eyes wide and horrified. She clung to the railing, ears flopped down, fur ruffled. She was high above the gas, away from its poisonous influence.

 

         “Akane,” he choked, gasping in the fumes. He cut his hand through the air when she took a step down. “Go!” His voice wasn’t any louder than a cracked whisper and no stronger than the beat of a bird’s wing, but she jumped back from the stairs like they had burned her feet. He heard the door to the upper rooms slam shut and hoped she would be safe; it was all he could do. The world was turning dim and he collapsed onto his stomach, losing the strength to hold himself up. Someone stepped over him, the smell of smoke filling his nose. He saw a tail, striped orange and black, and watched them bend to pick up his cane.

 

         Then he knew no more.

 

**~***~**

 

_The Wild West_

_1884_

 

         A raccoon-ness sat at a table in an old miner’s shack, contentedly polishing the wooden handles of a pair of six-shooters. Her feet were crossed at the ankles, the legs of her worn but intact jeans tucked into her shin-length brown boots. Her tan half-jacket was open to reveal her white undershirt, collar and cuffs decorated with mint-green embroidery, and a matching mint green handkerchief ties loosely at her throat.

 

         She put down the pistols with a low sigh, running her fingers through her mess of red curls and tying it back with a strip of leather. Her fingers lingered on the rough white line decorating her cheek; it cut a path along her cheekbone up into her hair, where it was thankfully hidden. She pursed her full lips, the raw emerald green of her eyes clouding with old memories.

 

         The door creaked open, startling her from her thoughts. She half-turned to see another raccoon walk in, a rifle slung over one shoulder. The golden hook attached to its handles gleamed in the light of the sun, but it was his wide grin was brighter.

 

         “Howdy, Cat!” he sang, nudging the door shut with his boot. His gold spurs jingled. The other raccoon, Cat, smiled and stood, holstering her pistols at her belt.

 

         “Howdy, Tennessee” she murmured. Tennessee grinned, striding toward her. The light played off the sandy brown of his fur, over the obsidian black rings looping his tail. Distracted, she missed him swinging his cane down to hook her waist, tugging her to him. She laughed, falling against his chest. Her fingers gripped at his dark vest, nose pressing into the spot where his orange shirt met his yellow-orange bandanna.

 

         “Later, Tennessee, later!” she giggled.

 

         “Aww, but why not now, Catherine?” he hummed, tilting her chin up. She huffed a breath and kissed his nose, blinked at his honey-hazel eyes. His heterochromia seemed all the more prominent when he was like this, excited from a last minute sweep of the bank. She could have gotten lost in the starburst of green around his pupils. He cupped her cheek, smoothing away an errant curl of red hair. She smiled and tipped her head into his palm.

 

         “We gotta job to do.” He made a low noise and nodded, ducking his head to kiss her before pulling her handkerchief up to cover her muzzle.

 

         “Yeah, yeah,” he sighed, opening the door for her. They stepped out into the afternoon sun, having slept late to prepare themselves. The tracks glinted beneath them. “After though, darlin’….” He grinned, tipped his hat to her, and leapt for the rails. Catherine shook her head at him and turned to make her own way into the town.

 

         On the rails, Tennessee crouched low, a hand on his bowler hat, the other clutching his cane. There was nothing like sliding along the strips of metal, polished smooth by countless train wheels. Sparks streamed up from under his spurs when he tilted his foot, letting them grind down. The wind whipped through his fur, streaming along his tail, cold against his face even though the sun was hot. Nothing could catch him when he was Rail Sliding, not man or beast or, he liked to boast, a bolt of lightning.

 

         It was freedom, freedom to do as he pleased. The only thing he loved more was his girlfriend, Catherine. Now there was a woman….

 

         Her voice echoed in his head, scolding him for forgetting the job they were going to pull. He bit down on his matchstick and leapt off the rails, disappearing into the long shadow next to an imposing building.

 

         The bank.

 

         It was one of the largest in the entire West, a sleek thing of tall pillars and marble floors and bustling accountants. Only the richest of the rich were allowed to stash their wealth there in the form of gold. The bank had yet to be robbed since its opening, a fact it boasted proudly.

 

         Tennessee Kid Cooper was of the mind to change that.

 

         He gave a cursory glance to make sure no one had noticed him (it was almost sunset and few people were lingering outdoors) and climbed up the pipe attached to the side of the building. The plan was simple: he would go in through the roof and Catherine through the front doors, working their way through guards and floors until they reached the gold vault. Then they would hitch a ride with the next train and disappear into the desert.

 

         Spurs jingling sweetly, Tennessee touched down on the roof, a canvas sack slung over his shoulder. The sun gleamed of his sandy pelt and obsidian black mask, his tail flicking to catch the light. He rolled his matchstick to the other side of his mouth, grinning, practically tasting victory already. The sheriff and his boys _never_ worried about the bank, thinking its reputation would scare off any potential criminals. But Tennessee was no ordinary criminal. He was a master thief, from a long line of master thieves, and he was ready to make his forefathers pr-

 

         A bullet cracked nearby, the wild shot of a pistol. He lunged back, reaching for his cane, only to step right into the loop of a lasso. The rope lashed tight at the joints of his elbows and choked the breath from him, dragging him down against the shingles, almost off the roof entirely. He caught the gutter with the heels of his boots, watching his cane threaten to fall, the barrel teetering at the edge. He strained his arms against the bindings, flexing his hands. If he could just-

 

         A foot came down on the cane’s handle, a nasty cackle right by his ear.

 

         “Much obliged, _amigo.”_ The muzzle of a gun pressed into his temple. He had lost before the fight had even begun. “Much obliged indeed.”

 

**~***~**

 

_Australia_

_10,000 BCE_

 

 

         The cave-raccoon shook himself awake and slipped out from the nest of furs he shared with his tiny clan. The three females slumbered on, the eldest and the middle one curled around the youngest, creating a pattern from darkest to lightest: blackwood-brown to clay-tan to albino white. The big male nuzzled the white female lightly, taking in her warm, sweet scent. She would bear his kits, hopefully the first of many litters, in a few months time.

 

         But to do that, she and the rest of their clan needed to eat. He picked up his new tool before leaving the stone cave, making his way to the cliffs he had mastered.

 

         Food had been scarce as of late. The layers of the large eggs he hunted had either fled or became wildly hostile, all due to the presence of a new hunter. Few in the village had seen this newcomer, but claimed he was a bear with gaudy purple fur. How he could possibly hunt in the earth and winter hues of the valley escaped the raccoon hunter entirely. Even so, ever since his arrival, eggs had been disappearing from nests faster than they could be replaced. The fruit was stripped from trees, roots torn up from the earth. The group of feral penguins was in a panic, running through the village, honking in distress at the disruptions. And when the penguins were distressed, it could only mean trouble was on the way.

 

         The raccoon gave himself a hard shake. No matter. He was the best hunter in the village and one of the best in his clan. He alone was able to scale the sheer cliffs to get to the higher nests. It was easy for him, like he was climbing over the flat plains, claws sinking into the ice like it was snow.

 

         But, as he made his way over to the cliffs, something caught his eye. In one of the winding tunnels of the caves sat a squat shape, back to him, completely unmoving. It was almost as large as him, plump and round, smelling of the large birds sometimes seen roaming the village. Catching one would mean his clan would eat large meals of dark meat for nearly a month. It would make a worthy kill.

 

         He went down on all fours, wrapping his tail around his toothed staff, stalking forward. The caves were hot, glowing firewater drifting sluggishly under the floor. The raccoon hunter paid it no mind, creeping forward. His prey was sill unaware. He tensed, pounced without second thought when instinct screamed for him to attack, sinking his teeth into feathers and skin, and-

 

         He reeled back in shock, spitting out something thick and spongy. This wasn’t blood! This wasn’t meat! His prey listed to one side, dull eyes staring up at him. It was fake!

 

         He growled at the dummy and sliced it open with his claws, spilling its white guts. There, now no one else would be fooled and-

 

         Something dropped over him, heavy and weighted, and he reared, snarling. It was a net. Then this… This was a trap! A clever trap indeed, luring him in with the false promise of an easy meal for his hungry clan and snaring him when he was distracted by irritation.

 

         He sliced with his new tool, hoping the curving tooth would be enough to saw through the bindings. The rope frayed and twisted apart, but there was something under it, something shiny and gray, too strong for him to cut through. Desperate now, he tried to run, only to see mammoths seizing the ends of the net and heaving. He was thrown to the ground, limbs caught under him. He struggled and twisted, but he only became more entangled.

 

         A face leered over him and he saw gaudy purple fur.

 

         The bear.

 

         He said something, voice rhythmic like he was trying to sing, but the words made no sense. The raccoon lunged at him, snapping his jaw inches from the bear’s nose. He would not be mocked, even if he didn’t know what the other was saying. The purple hunter growled savagely and hit him over the head with something hard and shiny, whirling to the mammoths holding onto the unbreakable rope.

 

         The net was bundled up and he was dragged away, chin scraping along the snow. The cold felt colder after the heat of the caves. He clung to his new weapon tightly, taking comfort in the reassurance it brought him, but the reality was bleak and harsh. He was trapped and at the mercy of the bear and his tribe, the hunter turned to prey.

 

         From far away came the distressed whistle of a raccoon. His pregnant mate. His clan must have woken and discovered him gone.

 

         He could do nothing to answer it, not unless he wanted them captured as well. He settled for growling at his captors, baring his fangs, and letting out a low whine when he thought no one could hear it.

 

         The whistle came, went, and remained unanswered.

 

**~***~**

 

_England_

_1301_

 

 

         “Galleth, thou art my friend and my brother, and I would follow thee into the depths of Hell itself, but this is _madness_ ,” William told him, pacing. The other knight ignored him, examining the parchment he held before him. The candlelight played off his copper eyes and pewter-gray fur, his pelt clean and sleek. He was dressed in a chainmail shirt with a yellow-edged red mantle over it and leather trousers. His pauldrons and greaves resting in the corner with his lance-cane; he eyed them eagerly, a smile playing around his lips to lift his mustache.

 

         “Nay, William,” he countered, turning his attention back to his companion. “The true madness lies with the master of this castle. For it to appear in but a few days time…” He shook his head. “The shadow it casts lies over the village and reaches for the lands beyond. We must protect them from it.” William made low noise in the back of his throat and dropped into a seat, tail lashing in agitation.

 

         “This foe commands legions far greater than our own. They never sleep, never eat anything but a brew most foul from the tavern. They art not of this world, and I fear the power their master commands.”

 

         “Thou _fear_ , William?” Galleth teased. The other only pursed his lips, cloud grey eyes unhappy. The knight softened and reached out to clasp his shoulder warmly. “Have I ever given thee reason to doubt me?”

 

         “…Nay,” William sighed, a smile plucking at his mouth. “Thou hast not.”

 

         “My lord has not done what, brother mine?” The two men jumped to their feet at the voice, both grinning. A young woman walked into the room, her innocent air only accented by the white and pink of her dress. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders in a pale brown wave, held back with a simple hairpin. Her eyes were the same shade as her brother’s, but they were far more daring, far bolder; storm clouds instead of rain. There was a rapier belted at her hip in place of a broadsword and, despite the delicateness of her hands, she wielded it with skill.

 

         “Given me reason to doubt him, sister.” She smirked and reached out a hand to Galleth, who took it and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

 

         “Emily. My lady,” he purred.

 

         “My lord,” she returned with a curve of her lips. She stepped between the two of them to look at the plans her husband at sketched out. “These plans are quite ambitious.”

 

         “I did tell him such,” William muttered.

 

         “Is it not better to strike when our enemy is unaware?” Galleth ignored the other man, resting his hand lightly at Emily’s back.

 

         “So long as we ourselves are not caught unaware,” she murmured, scanning the parchment. “These plans will suffice… So long as I lead another regiment to supplement thine own forces.” She quirked an eyebrow at her husband when he made a sound of protest. “Or wouldst thou have me stay back?” Ice cooled her voice.

 

         “I was… expecting it,” Galleth confessed hesitantly. “Only because thou hast seemed ill of late. But,” he added hastily, seeing a furrow appear between her rapidly darkening eyes, “if thou art well enough, there is no other place in this realm I would rather have thee.” She made no reply, only smiling with pink lips, and he knew he had succeeded in pleasing her.

 

         “Then we strike at nightfall and return before the break of day, victorious,” she declared.

 

         Night fell.

 

         They were _crushed._

 

         Growling, Galleth broke the jaw of one of the monstrous wolf soldiers. It hung limply, but the yellow eyes didn’t even flicker. Claws shot out to grab his arm, scratching deep lines into the metal of his armor. Shoving back the horror starting to creep up his back, he sliced through the arm with his sword. The wolf didn’t bleed red from its wounds, but thick, stinking black. The stump of limb spat sparks, innards not flesh but gleaming silver.

 

         And it continued to fight, lifting its standard. He seized it, focusing his energy, and plowed through several lines of the soldiers.

 

         His men continued to fight around him, but they were waning. Many of them were already captured. William had been felled early in the battle by what could only have been hellfire. It had arced through the sky, contained in some sort of tube, with deadly accuracy. And Emily…

 

         Emily had leapt into battle, rapier gleaming, determined to avenger her brother. Galleth had lost sight of her almost immediately.

 

         He gripped another standard and planted his feet on the wolf’s face, charging his lance again. He smashed through the doors and landed in the inner courtyard in a crouch, prepared to fight.

 

         His opponent was waiting for him. The black armor-covered figure must have been at least twice his height, a long plume of red waving gently from their helmet. Their hands were relaxed at their sides, no weapon to be seen. It _infuriated_ him.

 

         This being had struck down Emily, his wife; William, his brother; the men and friends of his order. The _least_ they could do was arm themselves and show a little respect for the battle being waged.

 

         “Have at thee!” he shouted, and lunged, channeling his Catapult Crash maneuver. Power crackled around his lance, tingling along his armor and through his gloves. Nothing could possibly stop-

 

         The enormous metal fist curled around his cane and the majority of his arm, too quick to avoid, too strong to break free. He saw the other hand draw back, poised to strike.

 

         A burst of light.

 

         And then darkness.

 

**~***~**

 

_Saudi Arabia_

_1001_

 

 

         When the sun sank behind the dunes and the shadows stretched and clawed across the sand, they set out. Like old times, the rats scouted ahead, navigating the narrow spaces the raccoon, being too large, couldn’t access. They slid through the bars leading to the lower levels of the palace and found him another way into the cellars. Sharing a grin with his thief brothers, Salim al Kupar lifted the large stone tile. It was a part of the floor above them and had loosened over time, practically a trapdoor. The four thieves peered out into the silent courtyard, each intent on taking a hall: the Lion and the Tiger to the gallery, the Panther to the treasury, Salim to the royal chambers.

 

         All had gone well so far. The execution was without obstacle, their entrance effortless, and…

 

         It was too easy. Salim paused, frowning at the darkness, the stone balanced on one hand. After a lifetime of thieving, pulling heists _was_ easy, but this…. Something was wrong. The rats poked their heads out from around his shoulders, squinting into the empty room. They could feel his tension, the bristling of fur along his shoulders and the whitening of his knuckles on his cane. They knew what it meant.

 

         The Panther opened his mouth to speak, already drawing his long dagger, when a dot of light appeared at his throat. And another on the Lion’s forehead and a third on the Tiger’s chest and a fourth between Salim’s eyes. And then they were covered in them, swarming around their heads and chests like a horde of motionless fireflies.

 

         A ring of figures with glassy white eyes and malformed faces stood around them, like cobras ready to strike.

 

         “Oh me, oh my,” a drawling, feminine voice called. Salim caught sight of a hulking silhouette, standing with the ring of monster-faced creatures. “It seems there are _vermin_ about.” The figure turned away, flapping a hand. “Dispose of them.”

 

         The four thieves dropped down the ladder while the trapdoor exploded into splinters of wood, landing in a heap at the bottom. A face with glinting white eyes and a perfectly round muzzle peered down at them, head cocking. It lifted the long tube it was holding, aiming it down at them. Salim seized the trio of tiny rats and dragged them out of the way, back down into the passage they had come from. Above them, the stone tile crumbled.

 

         “Salim, what do we do?” the Tiger squeaked. The raccoon’s heart skipped a few beats and he looked around, searching for the entrance they came in from.

 

         It was sealed.

 

         “The only thing we can do!” the Lion jumped to his feet, waving a hand at the only available hall. “We must run!”

 

         Salim nodded and rushed ahead of them with his much longer legs, scouting the halls, darting away from ones occupied by the much larger rats and their strange weapons, taking them down when he could. Their progress went unhindered for some time, but the halls sloped and dipped and curved around them like a labyrinth. And yet…

 

         _‘Why do I get the feeling…’_ Salim glanced down at his three brothers, exchanging identical expressions of mounting comprehension. _‘…that we are being herded like lambs to slaughter?’_ Looking up, he skidded to a halt, throwing out his arms to stop the others.

 

         A barricade of green light stood before them, crisscrossing too tightly for them to leap through the openings. A low hum filled the hallway, almost like a hive of bees was hiding somewhere, but the sound… It wasn’t organic, it was fake and metallic and set their teeth on edge with its deadness.

 

         “We must… go back,” the Tiger panted, glancing behind them. The tromp of heavy shoes was approaching at a steady pace. Why rush when they were cornered?

 

         “The light did not hurt us before,” the Panther said suddenly, walking forward. Salim made a grab for his shoulder and missed.

 

         “Hafiz, that was only because we _moved out of the way!”_ the Lion squealed, eyes wary and full of fear.

 

         “It is just light. It did not and cannot hurt us,” the Panther frowned, reaching out a hand. “See? My hand goes right-!”

 

         His hand did _not_ go right through, but stopped like he touched a wall. Green immediately turned to dark, hateful red, and the Panther cried out, the smell of burning fur filling the hall.

 

         “Hafiz!” Salim lunged forward to grab him, but stumbled over something slumped on the floor. The Lion. No one had noticed the dot locked on the back of his shoulder, sending a long, metallic dart deep into the flesh. A phial stood up from his back, empty, lodged where it had been shot. A flurry of similar projectiles flew passed the old thief, narrowly missing him. He grabbed the Tiger by his wrist and pulled him into an alcove.

 

         “How are we going to get out?” the rat whispered, clutching the raccoon's leg. Salim scanned around again and saw it: a window, framed by two ropey curtains for decoration.

 

         Salvation.

 

         “The window.” He pointed with his cane and crouched down. “Quick, onto my back.”

 

         “What about Hafiz and Asad?” the Tiger asked, clambering onto his shoulders.

 

         “We must leave them,” the raccoon sighed. “But only so we may return for them.” The rat nodded against his shoulder and he coiled, ready to sprint for the ropes when he had an opening. The storm of silver blurs ended, the whistle of them shooting through the air replaced by a metallic clatter. A canister spun crazily across the stones, spouting streams of eerie green smoke.

 

         On his back, Salim felt the Tiger give an explosive cough and slip, boneless, from his shoulders.

 

         “No!” he groaned, cradling the tiny rat to his chest. Not all of them. He couldn’t lose all of them. “Shakil!”

 

         “Go,” the Tiger wheezed, smaller body already succumbing to the fumes. “Go, Salim!”

 

         The old thief looked from the Panther, curled up in a tight ball around his burns, surrounded by a cage of the strange beams. The Lion remained where he had fallen in a limp heap, his back rising and falling with feeble breaths. The Tiger was barely conscious now, coughing weakly. Salim sat him against the wall, touching his cheek lightly. Already the dizziness was starting to affect him; he didn’t have much longer.

 

         “I will return,” he promised and the lunged into the hallway, leaping for curtains. Using the skills he had perfected, he shot up to the window and grabbed the sill, heaving himself through. He heard their pursuers give muffled sounds of dismay, but he was already touching down into the sand. He grimaced as the impact echoed in his bones, but there was no time to pause. Gritting his teeth, he fled into the night, leaving the palace, its monstrous occupants, and his brothers behind him.

 

         There was nothing he could do.

 

**~***~**

 

_Paris_

_Present Day_

 

 

         “Well?” A skunk stood before an array of monitors built into the blimp’s control panels. His shrewd green eyes were cold and haughty, moving from screen to screen with something almost akin to disdain. His expression, however, was pleasant. “Have you completed phase one of your assignments?”

 

         Five grins, one lascivious, one maniacal, one feral, one satisfied, and one coy, answered his question. His smile was demure in comparison, showing no teeth and only just managing to lift the ends of his white moustache. But his response was enflamed with the passion of victory, victory of a war already won.

 

         “ _Excellent_.”


	9. Blast to the Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: none
> 
> Translations:  
> Konnichiwa – hello

         Something was wrong.

 

         Sly forced himself awake, a frown taking shape on his features almost before he managed the feat. Fur ruffling from a chill, he half sat up against the couch pillow he had been using and cast a long, thorough look around the room, ears pricked attentively.

 

         Bentley was bent over his worktable, sketching out some blueprints for another project or bomb prototype. The turtle was completely absorbed in his task, tip of his tongue caught between his teeth, three different colored pencils tucked behind his glasses. He was surrounded by a familiar aura of eager frustration and determination as he grumbled to himself, erased something furiously, and started over.

 

         There was nothing unusual or upsetting there. Sly let his eyes scan the room until they found the camera monitors Bentley had installed a few years back.

 

         One screen caught his attention. It showed Murray down in the garage. Well, it showed his feet anyway. He was under his van, working on it happily, elbow deep in parts and oil and things Sly couldn’t even guess the names of. The hippo climbed out and cleaned his hands on a rag, whistling a cheerful tune.

 

         Nothing wrong there either.

 

         Sly resettled himself on the couch, tucking an arm under his head and closing his eyes again. It must have just been the beginnings of a nightmare or something. Lucky him that he had woken up before it could take sh-.

 

         The something shot down his spine again and hit the tip of every nerve, filling the master thief with a sense of total and complete dread. He pushed himself up to his hands with a sharp gasp, eyes darting around, tail bristling like a bottlebrush. He wrapped it around himself in comfort, trying and failing to name the source of his fear.

 

         Full of energy, he wandered over to Bentley. A large blueprint was spread out over the table, depicting the security systems and ventilation network of a large museum. Several pictures were set next to them, circled and highlighted with future artifacts to steal. Sly studied them with interest, a smile creeping across his lips when he noticed the years scribbled next to a few of them.

 

         Thanks to Calia’s tip, Bentley had been able to finish his time machine, improving it in ways he hadn’t considered before. It was sitting in the lab, waiting to be installed in the van so it could be put to good use.

 

         Humming a random tune, Sly headed to his room. It was starting to look more lived in now, the neatness he had doggedly maintained during his first days home falling apart. But the familiar space wasn't enough to soothe the whipcord tightness of his nerves. Taking in a measured breath and letting it out, he walked to his bookshelf to pull out the _Thievius Raccoonus_.

 

         Sly always liked reading it when he had the chance. The family he had never met he could at least know through the worn pages, and the book had always brought back memories of his father. Memories not soaked in blood and loud with screams and-.

 

         He bit the thought off with a shake of his head and a hard blink. It brought back good memories, and he wanted to keep it that way.

 

         He tugged the leather bound book from its place and it dropped neatly into his hands. The leather was soft, the edges of the pages slightly uneven from when he had rebound it. Moving to his desk, he thumbed them gently. What should he read? Or should he just go from cover to cover like he usually did? Already feeling calmer, he opened it to a random page, letting the word-covered papers glide over his fingers until they fell open.

 

         Blank.

 

         Something pricked Sly’s mind, hard and sharp, and lodged itself in his chest. Swallowing around his heart, which had decided to make a new home in his throat, he flipped to the front of the section. He encountered _far_ more blank pages than there should have been.

 

         He stopped, reading the heading: Sir Galleth Cooper. He was the founder of the Cooper Order, a brave knight, and a highly skilled actor. Sly stared at the paper for a long time, rubbing his chin. Sir Galleth had written _way_ more than the few sections he had-

 

         Like someone pulling at the string on a sweater, the words unraveled and vanished. Sly leapt to his feet, chair teetering and nearly crashing to the floor. The _Thievius Raccoonus,_ without the weight of his hand to hold it open, fluttering to a previous section, written by Salim al-Kupar.

 

         Half was missing and the other half was disappearing.

 

         “No…” All that came out was a croak. More words vanished from the old paper. He was pretty sure he was having a heart attack. “ _No!_ ” Now it was a scream.

 

         Back in the front room, Bentley dropped his tools with a clatter, whipping around to the direction of the piteous noise. Murray, who had come up from the garage for a snack, dropped his sandwich back on the counter.

 

         “Sly!?” Exchanging a worried glance with Murray, Bentley wheeled himself down the hall, the hippo shadowing him. Before they could get to Sly’s room, they were intercepted by a streak of gray. Sly was clutching the _Thievius Raccoonus_ to his chest, line of his jaw tense and tail snapping at the air. The last time he had looked so distraught was when he had discovered the Clockwerk exhibit opening in Cairo.

 

         “There are pages missing!” he told them before they could ask what was wrong. “Someone is erasing the writing!”

 

         “What?” The book was immediately opened and offered to them.

 

         “It’s a blank page,” Murray observed, forgetting momentarily that Sly could all but rewrite his family’s prized book from memory and therefore knew where there were supposed to be instructions or sketches or notes and where there were not.

 

         “It’s not _supposed_ to be a blank page,” the master thief growled. “It’s supposed to be Salim al-Kupar’s writings. They’re _gone._ They’ve disappeared. I watched them _disappear.”_

 

         “May I?” Bentley asked, holding out his hand. Sly didn’t hesitate to hand the book over to him.

 

         “What’s _happening?”_ He dropped to his knees next to the turtle’s wheelchair. Bentley flipped through the _Thievius Raccoonus,_ stopping at another section, Tennessee Kid Cooper’s section.

 

         Words faded from view.

 

         Sly felt like it was the night of his eighth birthday yet again, watching his family book get ripped to shreds right before his eyes. But this was worse, this was _so_ much worse, because he didn’t know how to get anything _back_. He almost keened in distress, but choked the noise off before it could escape, settling for lodging a hand in his hair and gripping at it instead.

 

         “What’s happening?” he repeated. “How do I make it _stop?”_

 

         Bentley gave no response, blinking rapidly. He held the book gingerly as if he expected it to crumble into nothing. He gave a tiny shake of his head, like he had just woken, and looked up.

 

         “Just give me like… two minutes to run some tests,” he requested, setting the _Thievius Raccoonus_ on his lap and wheeling toward the elevator. The other two followed him, Sly grim-faced and Murray torn between concern and confusion.

 

         “How could the writing just disappear?” he wondered. The raccoon gave a terse shrug, tapping his cane against his thigh while his tail jerked from one side to the other.

 

         _‘Keep it together,’_ Sly chastised himself, taking a deep breath in and letting it out slowly, allowing it to take some of his tension with it. The creak of a wheelchair made him look up to see Bentley rolling himself into the lab. He set the _Thievius Raccoonus_ on some sort of scanning table, and little red lights and startled beeps immediately started to sound from the machine. A holographic screen popped up in front of the turtle and he started tapping away, frown deepening with every new message. Sly couldn’t take it.

 

         “Well?” He crossed his arms over his chest, staring down at his family’s book. It looked remarkably small. “What’s the verdict?”

 

         “You’re not going to believe this.”

 

         “Try me.” Bentley closed the screen and turned to him.

 

         “Someone, and I don’t know who yet, is attacking your ancestors.” The raccoon straightened, ears standing at attention and tail going stiff.

 

         _“What?”_ He knew the genius long enough to not question his hypothesis, but this… He was having trouble wrapping his head around it. “Wouldn’t that mean…?”

 

         “Something is going on in your family's past? Something that shouldn't be going on? Yes.” Bentley picked up the _Thievius Raccoonus_ and handed it to him. “Someone is attacking your ancestors,” he repeated. “In their own time periods. It’s the only explanation as to why the writing would be disappearing.” Sly hugged the book to his chest.

 

         “How do we stop it?”

 

         “We confront the source of the problem,” the turtle told him. He smiled grimly. “It’s time to rev up the time machine. We’ve got a big heist ahead of us, guys, and the sooner we’re ready to go, the better.”

 

         A beat. Then….

 

         “I’ve got the food,” Murray decided.

 

         “I’ll grab the bags,” Sly added, already making his way up the stairs.

 

         “Med kit and tech!” Bentley called, wheeling away.

 

         It was routine from there on out. They were used to long heists and roughing it on the road for extended periods of time. In fact, they almost preferred it. The three of them all kept pre-packed bags, stashed anyway in case of emergency and for convenience’s sake.

 

         Within the hour, the safe house was sealed and the defense systems armed. The van was packed, bags stored, the time machine strapped into place on the roof. All that was left now was to find an artifact to set the destination.

 

         Sly and Murray waited in the van while Bentley did his last check of the safe house systems and gathered the information he still needed. Before he wheeled off to the old entrance, the turtle had been muttering calculations to himself, furiously typing into his laptop.

 

         “Are you ok?” Murray asked from the driver’s seat. Sly managed a wane smile and a distracted nod, tapping his fingers over the cover of the _Thievius Raccoonus_. A big hand splayed over his back. “Buddy. Talk to me.”

 

         “I just…” He squeezed his eyes shut and growled, hard enough to make himself tremble in a brief spasm. “I just wish people would leave my family alone.”

 

         “We’ll just go teach ‘em to,” Murray promised. He took his hand away and smashed his fist into his palm. “A lesson they won’t forget! Right, Bentley?” he asked, seeing the turtle clamber into the back.

 

         “Right, right,” the genius answered distractedly. “Thank goodness for the Guru’s enlargement spell,” he sighed, making sure the monitors and controls for the time machine were all set up properly in the back of the van.

 

         One of the first things the koala had done upon their recovery of Murray’s precious van was to cast a charm over it so everyone could fit both their gear and themselves comfortably, without changing the vehicle’s outward appearance. Even after he left, the spell had stuck, and they were eternally grateful.

 

         “So, do we know where we’re heading?” Sly asked him, half twisting to look behind him.

 

         “We’re going to steal a samurai dagger from a local museum and start in Japan. According to my scans, those were the passages that disappeared most recently. But first, we need to find somewhere where we can leave the _Thievius Raccoonus.”_ The master thief scowled, laying a hand over the book protectively. “It’s our only guide for where- _when_ , we’re going to have to go,” Bentley explained, seeing his expression. “It’s better to leave it here, with someone we can trust.”

 

         “Like…?” There were very few people Sly would trust with the heirloom. Two of them were already sitting in the van with him, and he didn’t want Calia getting tangled in the mess of his life.

 

         “Dimitri said we could trust him,” Murray piped up. The other two looked at him blankly. “At the club, when he wanted to know if… uh…” He trailed off. “It doesn’t matter what he wanted to know. He said if we ever needed the help, to call him first. So I say we do it.”

 

         “Not like we have much of a choice,” Sly commented. “But ok. We go to Dimitri, get the dagger, and get going.” He buckled his seat belt, bouncing his leg. “The sooner, the better,” he echoed from before. Murray grinned.

 

         “You got it, Sly.”

 

         The tires screamed against the concrete, and the van hurled itself out of the garage. For all his prowess in the demolition derbies, Murray didn’t hit a single car. He blew passed them, weaving in and out of traffic, stopping only long enough at stop signs to not attract too much attention.

 

         They parked behind the club and Sly scaled the wall below Dimitri’s office, dropping the fire escape for Bentley and Murray to follow them. Thankfully, the iguana was there, dancing to the music blaring from his speakers. Making a face at the spectacle, Sly hooked his cane under the window and pulled it open, slipping inside. The club owner nearly shrieked at the sight of him, only to be interrupted by Bentley.

 

         “Dimitri, do you remember what you said to us last time we were here?” he demanded. The taller reptile raised an eyebrow and nodded. “This is us calling you first.” The turtle took a deep breath. “Thirty second recap because we don’t have a lot of time: someone is going after Sly’s family. We’re going to go after them. We need you to watch the _Thievius Raccoonus_ and report back to us using this.” He handed the iguana what looked like a green gemstone in some sort of round base. “If you notice anymore writing disappearing, you need to contact us straight away. Got it?”

 

         “Got it good, bro,” the lounge lizard assured him.

 

         “Good.” Bentley looked to Sly, who was leaning against the wall. He held the _Thievius Raccoonus_ open before him, grimacing in pain and fear and anger, thumb running over another blank page. Rioichi Cooper’s section was almost completely gone and what was left was fading fast. He half-expected himself to start forgetting how to perform a Ninja Spire Jump. “Sly,” the turtle called. He started, looking up. “C’mon.”

 

         Dredging up a sigh from his toes, he tucked the ribbon into place and pushed off the wall. Murray stopped him.

 

         “Let me do this, pal,” he requested. Sly gave a hesitant nod and handed the _Thievius Raccoonus_ to the big man, who turned to Dimitri.

 

         “Do you see this?” Murray asked bluntly, holding up the book and pointing to its cover. The iguana blinked and nodded. “If anything happens to this, the pieces of you will be too small for anyone to ever find, _if_ they’re brave enough to go looking,” the hippo warned, voice dark. Sly nearly purred at the threat, nudging the big man’s side in thanks.

 

         “Don’t worry, bros. It’s safe with me,” Dimitri promised, hugging the book to his chest; he seemed perfectly sincere. The raccoon felt himself relax and he managed a genuine smile for the first time that night.

 

         “Thank you, Dimitri.”

 

         “If friends can’t watch friends’ family diaries, den friends can’t be bros,” the iguana told him cryptically.

 

         “Speaking of friends, can I borrow your phone before we leave?” The lounge lizard nodded and handed the master thief his cell. “Bentley, can you find me Calia’s phone number really quick?”

 

         “Of course.” Thirty seconds later, Sly was dialing. He listened to the low tone, tapping the hook of his cane against his leg impatiently, standing off to the side. The tone stopped.

 

         _“Calia Shade speaking.”_

 

         “Hey,” he greeted. “It’s Sly.”

 

         _“Hey,”_ she answered, sounding a little breathless. _“I really should stop being surprised at your ability to find me, shouldn’t I?”_ Her words teased a laugh out of him.

 

         “Probably,” he hummed.

_“I was actually just about to call you though. Great timing.”_ There was a noise in the background, like a zipper being drawn. _“What’s up?”_

 

         “Sadly, I have to be the bearer of bad news,” he sighed. “We’re going to have to take a rain check on lunch. Sorry.”

 

         _“Don’t be,”_ she told him. _“You beat me to it- I was going to cancel on you too. Something came up that I need to take care of.”_ She paused. _“I may not be available for a few weeks, actually. Depends on how long this project takes me.”_

 

         “Same here. But hopefully we'll be able to go to that noodle house soon.” Murray flashed him a thumbs up. He straightened. “I've gotta go. Talk to you later, Calia.”

 

         _“See you around, Sly.”_ He hung up the phone and handed it back to Dimitri.

 

         “Thanks.” He paused and added, “for everything.” The iguana nodded. He turned to Bentley and Murray. “You guys ready?”

 

         “Whenever you are,” the turtle assured, having just finished scribbling a note for Dimitri to give to Penelope when she returned home. Sly nodded and twirled his cane over his fingers.

 

         “Then let’s get to that museum.”

 

**~***~**

 

         Calia snapped her phone shut and tossed it on the table.

 

         _‘The universe,’_ she decided. _‘Is conspiring against me.’_

 

         She turned her gaze from the offending piece of metal and to the mirror mounted on the door. A woman stared back, dressed in flexible boots, made from the same material rock climbers used in their shoes, and a matching pants and top set. They were colored a medium gray to blend with shadows and the moonlight alike without highlighting her fur too much. Pockets lined the pants, filled with everything from sleep gas and wickedly sharp needles to discreet recorders and thin little cameras. A belt with a small cable built into it held the pants up, fastened over the hem of a hoodie-like top. Said top bound and flattened her already small chest, giving her both protection and extra anonymity. The hood was drawn up over starlight hair, which had been braided into a neat French-braid to keep it out of the way.

 

         Calia blinked and the woman blinked back.

 

         “All right,” she hummed, drawing up a lower facemask from where it hung around her neck. “Time to do some haunting.”

 

 

**~***~**

 

         “Ok, you both remember the plan, right?” Bentley affirmed as they stepped out of the van. The shadows welcomed the trio like old friends, cloaking them in black.

 

         “Of course!” Murray rumbled, stalking forward with his hands at the ready.

 

         “Relax,” Sly soothed, encouraging himself to do the same. It had always been easier to pretend like nothing fazed him. “We’ve been over it like a hundred times now. What could possibly go wrong?”

 

         “Famous last words,” Bentley groaned. “Look, we’re only going to get one shot at this. We can’t afford to mess up.”

 

         “No messing up allowed then.” Sly hooked his cane around a pipe and pulled himself up. Bentley lifted a sewer cap and Murray jogged into an alleyway, and the side street became quiet and empty once more.

 

         Sly climbed the metal duct, cane held between his teeth. The edge of the roof came into view and he yanked himself up, scanning briefly for any security, before continuing on his way.

 

         The plan was basic to the point of austere, but they didn’t have the time for anything elegant.

 

         Sly rushed across landing and nearly got caught in the beam of security light. He dove behind a chest and chastised himself for being so careless; worried or no, he had to stay focused. Like Bentley said, they only had one chance. When the spotlight moved away, he continued on his way, cautiously this time.

 

         He covered ground like the darkness itself, swift and silent, stealing over stone and brick and metal. It was no challenge to him; he was a master thief. It was in his bones, in his blood, twisted into the threads of his soul. Three thousand years of stealth and grace existed in him, and it suited him well.

 

         He ran along a narrow wire, looking down to the road beneath him.

 

         “Hey, Bentley, remind me what Murray’s entrance strategy was again?” The hippo flashed him a grin and a thumb’s up from the roof of the car. He gave a small wave in return, and the car disappeared around the corner.

 

         _“Murray’s going through the back door. Why do you ask?”_ The turtle’s tone was dripping with suspicion. Sly replied with an indistinct noise, running along the edge of a billboard.

 

         “I’m at the skylight,” he said instead, jumping down. No guard. He looked around, scanning dark corners and chests and potted plants. Still no guards.

 

         _“Perfect,”_ Bentley said. _“Give Murray and me a few minutes. I assume you can pick the lock?”_ Sly grinned, straightening from his half-bent posture and wandering the roof.

“You assume correctly. Let me know when those security systems are down.”

 

         The raccoon paused to stretch, extending his arms high above his head. The heist was doing him good, letting him work out his emotions and relax through familiar moves and the steady release of adrenaline. He had done this hundreds, if not thousands of times. A heist was nothing new, and there wasn't anything new about this job. They would pull it, plan a finishing heist, and complete their goal.

 

         Sighing, he paused at the roof’s edge. He was across from the museum now, forced to take the long way around to avoid attracting too much attention. It was fairly large, with a stylish façade and carved pillars, a few of the windows lit up with yellow light.

 

         There was something about it though… He gave a short hum.

_“Sly? Something wrong?”_ The raccoon frowned, staring at the museum hard.

 

         “Not sure.” He narrowed his eyes, the amber gleaming in the silvery light of the moon. “Something about this place is really familiar…”

 

         And then it hit him.

 

         “This is the museum Calia said she was checking out,” he reported. “I recognize it from the brochure she showed me.”

 

         _“Really?”_

 

         “Yeah. The new wing…” He licked his lips, realization dawning on him. “Bentley, she said the new wing was on-”

 

         There was a whisper behind him, about ten feet back and five feet to his left, like fabric just brushing against brick. The master thief spun around, cane at the ready, to find nothing and no one. But the sound came again, closer now, his ears flicking, trying to locate it source. It was coming from… inside the wall?

 

         He slunk back into the shadows and climbed a small upper section of the roof, crouching just behind a chimney so he could look down on where he had been standing and the wall behind him. The whispering continued, and then…

 

         Something stepped out of the wall. _Out_ of it- not around it or from under it or dropping from above it.

 

         _Out._

 

         _“Sly, are you there?”_ The raccoon shook his head, dazed, eyes fixed on a random point in the air. To anyone else, there would have been nothing. But to him, the air rippled, disturbed by some unseen force in a vaguely anthropoid shape. The distortion reminded him of looking through warped glass or watching the heat rise from a car hood. Only there was no obvious source.

 

         “Something came throughthe wall.” Sly leaned out, cane hooked around the chimney, feet braced at its base. “Bentley, something just came _through_ the wall. Like, _walked_ through it.”

 

         _“Let me check the cameras,”_ Bentley commed worriedly. _“…Darn it! They’re all going haywire!”_ The air rippled again, moving closer to the roof. _“Stay sharp, pal,”_ he warned. “ _I-”_ The turtle’s words were lost in a crackle of static, the earpiece whining unhappily. Sly grimaced and looked back down.

 

         The distortion had stopped and… turned? Sly could have sworn he felt eyes on him and readied himself for a confrontation. But it wavered and darted away from him, in the direction he had come from. It wanted to avoid him. Sly was perfectly ok with that, touching back down onto the roof.

 

         “Bentley?” He tapped the earpiece, which was buzzing now. “Bentley, you there?”

 

         _“…Y! SLY!”_ The raccoon jerked at the shout. _“DO YOU READ ME?”_

 

         “I read you, Bentley,” he groaned, rubbing his temple. Déjà vu swept over him. “Loud and… very loud.”

 

         _“Sorry,”_ the genius apologized. _“The coms cut out, and then none of the cameras in your area were responding. Just keep moving. And don’t pick a fight with that thing, whatever it is.”_

 

         “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Sly lied, making his way over to the skylight. A faint touch a sweetness caught his attention, caught on the end of a breeze. It was light and floral, like mint and lavender….

 

         “Perfume,” he murmured.

 

         _“What was that?”_

 

         “Uh, nothing, Bentley.” He distracted himself with the lock, tsking at the shoddy workmanship. A tug here, a little pressure there… The latch popped open. He reached into his backpack and pulled out a cable, fastening it to his belt. “Did Murray knock out those generators?”

 

         _“Yea, and I’m disabling the security beams… now._ ” Below him, the green lasers powered down. _“You’re all clear.”_

 

         “Thanks, guys,” he replied, latching the other end of the wire to the window.

 

         _“That was GREAT!”_ Murray shouted. _“This is going to be AWESOME!”_

 

         “What I wouldn’t give for your positive attitude, big guy,” Sly chuckled. “I’ll see you guys in the van.”

 

         Giving the cable a testing tug, the master thief jumped through the skylight and into the room below. The wire tightened and let out slowly, lowering him just a foot away from the case. The dagger, wrapped in a red sash like some sort of gift, winked at him. It was just _begging_ to be snatched up. Sly pulled a calling card out of his belt and swapped the two, smirking victoriously.

 

         The door burst open. Years of training himself not to overreact while on a mission stopped him from jerking too badly, but his head did snap around.

 

         "What the-?"

 

         “You didn’t think you were going to get away with it, did you, ringtail?”

 

         Carmelita.

 

         The universe was either cruelly perverted, or his luck was worse than terrible.

 

         He hadn’t seen her since the night they broke up, hadn’t been sure if he never wanted to see her again or never wanted to go a day without her again. She looked harsher than he remembered. Maybe it was the dark eye shadow she was wearing, or the brighter shade of red lipstick she wore. Maybe it was the way her coffee-black eyes smoldered with fury.

 

         _‘She’s most beautiful when she’s angry,’_ a thought observed. He shook it away and stuffed the dagger into the straps of his backpack, never taking his eyes off the shock pistol being brandished in his direction.

 

         “He-Hey! Carmelita!” he laughed. He sounded disgustingly fake, even to his own ears. “Funny meeting you here!” She didn’t reply, advancing with bared teeth and her pistol aimed at his chest. His arm ached in phantom pain. He pressed the latch at his waist, the one that was _supposed_ to make the cable reel him back up.

 

         Nothing happened.

 

         Had Sly been the swearing type, he would have dropped several bombs right there.

 

         “Sly Cooper,” the vixen began and then cut herself off with a feral growl. “I’m locking you up for _good!”_

 

         The cable suddenly snapped taut, making them both look up. Gasping as his belt dug into his stomach, Sly was yanked back through the skylight.

 

         “Sorry, gotta take a rain check!” he yelled down to her, cringing internally. When was he going to learn to not antagonize her? It was like pouring gasoline into a fire.

 

         _“COOPER!”_

 

         Several electric blasts followed him up, chased by Carmelita’s enraged scream. He slammed the skylight shut and unbuckled the cable, simultaneously looking around for his savior.

 

         A distortion hung in the air, almost unnoticeable. If he hadn’t been looking for it, he knew he would have missed it.

 

         “Thanks for the save,” he murmured. The air rippled in what might have been a nod and the figure was gone again. Sly let the cable drop and jumped for the walkway.

 

         “Good evening, this is Sly Cooper.” The master thief dropped to the fence below, twisting into a neat Ninja Spire Landing. From there, he jumped down into the courtyard. “I’d like to request a ride.”

 

         _“Cute, Sly.”_ Bentley’s eye-roll was almost audible. In the distance, an engine revved and the van tore down the cobblestone road. _“Get in here!”_

 

         Murray slowed just enough for Sly to snatch the handle of the open passenger door and pull himself in, slamming it shut behind him.

 

         “One samurai sword, as requested.” The raccoon leaned back and handed his prize to Bentley.

 

         “Dagger,” the genius corrected absently, setting the weapon in a round case and sliding a small cover shut. “Did I hear Inspector Fox back there?”

 

         “You might have.” Sly buckled his seatbelt and focused on the road ahead of them.

 

         “Hmm.” A computer sang with beeps and clicks. “Okay. Murray, whatever you do, don’t slow down.” A low whirring started from the machinery, a glow brightening from the back of the van.

 

         “You got it!” the hippo whooped, slamming his foot on the accelerator. Sly peered out the window, catching a glimpse of other cars falling behind, sirens wailing.

 

         “Murray,” he warned. The hippo peeked at his review mirror and grinned.

 

         “Just like demo-derby!” he cheered, yanking the wheel to one side. He wove through the courtyard, destroying the grass, crashing into everything that the van could survive crashing into. Sly’s teeth rattled and he gripped at his seat to stay in one place.

 

         “Faster!” Bentley demanded. A hum filled the air. Tendrils of energy started to crackle just outside the van, licking along the paint like miniature forks of lightning. The cars were beginning to close in. They were running out of road. “Making the jump… _now!”_

 

         Everything froze and then leapt forward. The buildings and streetlights and pursuers vanished into a tunnel of blue, bright blue, shining against Sly’s eyelids.

 

         Were they moving? Were they frozen? Sly couldn’t tell if he was upside down or sideways or inside out.

 

         The light flashed white and then _color,_ color everywhere. Murray braked, the van screeching to a halt mere feet from the massive boulder that had not been there ten seconds ago. New sounds filled the space around them, new smells and new sights that had not been there before, which could only mean one thing.

 

         “Gentlemen.” Bentley leaned over the divider. “ _Konnichiwa,_ and welcome to Japan.” He turned smug at their matching expressions of awe. “Circa 1603.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up:  
> Updates will be happening on Mondays and Fridays. Eventually, they'll be pushed to either solely Mondays or Fridays, but for now, enjoy two updates a week ^_^
> 
> Also, feel free to drop me a comment; it's very encouraging.


	10. Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, I said I was going to update on Friday, but I'm updating today instead because I won't have access to WiFi for a while. The next update will be on Monday! ^_^
> 
> WARNINGS: none
> 
> Translations:  
> Anjuu – living peaceably  
> Kunai – Japanese knife (I used Naruto for reference)  
> Yokai – I used it to mean monster  
> Oniisan- older brother (honorific)

         “ _Whoooa_.” Murray peered through the windshield, jaw hanging.

 

         “It worked,” Sly breathed, stepping out of the van.

 

         “You doubted me?” Bentley shot back, smirking. The raccoon shook his head.

 

         “‘Doubt’ is such a strong word,” he murmured, looking around. “I prefer ‘mildly skeptical.’”

 

         They were surrounded by green, speckled with pops of bright color from flowers, broken by the neutral gray of exposed stone and rivulets of water weaving between them. The air was thick and warm, but there was a wonderful breeze, salty and cool and carrying the scent of the sea. Tall stalks of bamboo swayed peaceful, leaves rustling and whispering under a midnight blue sky. It was speckled with stars, more stars than they had ever seen in their time thanks to light pollution.

 

         Feeling giddy, Sly moved to the stands of bamboo, parting them with a hand. A village stood beyond them, a road running only a few feet away from where he stood. The houses were traditional, several half-covered in vines, the windows dark. Candles burned in old lamps, hung on hooks on scattered poles. Mountains reached up around the town, cradling it between massive cliffs of stone. A river babbled and rushed away into a waterfall, blue-black then silver-aqua under the moon.

 

         It was just like Rioichi Cooper described.

 

         Well. Sly’s ears flicked at the sound of distant tromping, a frown crossing his lips. Not thirty seconds later, a small troop of boars marched passed him. They decked out in metal armor, carrying swords and crossbows. Their expressions were those of hired soldiers, thuggish and dull, brightening only when they had to snap a salute to some passing officer. The master thief’s frown became a scowl, eyes narrowing.

 

         “Isn’t this place supposed to be peaceful?” Bentley wondered, echoing his thoughts. The master thief nodded.

 

         “Rioichi wrote that nothing ever happened in Anjuu Village.” He leaned back into the shadows as a guard stomped close, snuffling. “It was why he lived here and used it as his base of operations.”

 

         “Doesn’t look too peaceful now,” Murray said, crouching to poke his head out just under Sly’s arm. The master thief gave a grim hum of agreement, stepping back and letting the bamboo fall back into place.

 

         “I’m going to go scout around for a safe house,” he told them. “I’ll come back as soon as I find one. In the meantime, you guys just lay low with the van.”

 

         “Be careful,” Bentley cautioned.

 

         “Bentley, c’mon.” The master thief smirked and cocked his head, lifting his arms in a wide shrug. “When am I ever not careful?”

 

         “Do you want the list chronologically or alphabetically?” the turtle deadpanned. But Sly was already gone, a faint chuckle lingering in the air and a shadow darting away among the bamboo.

 

**~***~**

 

         Anjuu Village, Sly soon discovered, was practically under quarantine. No one came in and no one went out, its perimeter heavily and constantly under patrol. Guards patrolled the streets and the roofs (why were they always on the roofs?), well armed with arrows and crossbows and small fireworks, strutting arrogantly. There was little need. No civilian dared roam the streets; it was like a ghost town. The one face Sly did see was that of a young cat, maybe in her late teens, peering out anxiously through a window. A moment later, another cat pulled her back and yanked the curtains shut.

 

         Sly let out a worried breath, jumping from one rooftop to the next and down to a low road. A bridged stretched partway over it, connecting to a walkway, and a second bridge at the road’s level led to another part of the village. A high wall, covered in tangles of green, stretched above him to support more buildings. He sighed, more frustrated now. All of the ones he had seen were occupied. Those abandoned were too rundown to house anything more than a few feral rats, scurrying among broken boards.

 

         If they had to, they could work from the van, but a safe house always made life easier for them. An ear flicking as a guard marched from under a bridge, lantern held aloft to cast a wide circle of light, Sly ducked behind some vines. He stepped back with a hand outstretched behind him, feeling for the wall. Nothing.

 

         The crevice he had thought was just a shallow alcove in the rock face was turning out to be a tunnel. He turned sideways, sweeping more vines to the side and entered a cave. It was silent save for the faint trickling of water. A few massive fireflies provided dim light, hovering around luminous flowers.

 

         It was promising, but a hiding spot as good as this was often coveted by people of all sorts. Already, there were signs of previous habitation: a large table, complete with stools, a low divan up against a wall, a pair of large shelves, chests tucked into a corner. A jade lion statue snarled from one wall, guarding a secret window. Next to it was a number of katana, displayed proudly. The master thief edged deeper into the space and swept a finger over the table. A not-too-thick layer of dust covered his glove, suggesting the cave had been abandoned, maybe two, three weeks ago.

 

         The main cave was spacious, and there appeared to be a secondary cave behind it. Perfect for sleeping. The water might have been an issue, had it not been running neatly between the cracks of stone floor, the moss sponging up what little ran over; wooden platforms covered areas where the moss did not, forming walkways. It was fairly picturesque, all things considered. Sly paused to eye the dusty furniture one last time. It would make a fine hideout, but there was something about it, something he couldn’t place. Not bad, but not right….

 

         A growl came from the corner and his ear immediately slanted to the noise, the other up. He shifted his grip on his cane readying himself for a fight. The sound came again. No, not a growl. It was a gurgle, a gurgle from a hungry stomach, followed by a tiny noise. Yes, it was definitely from the corner.

 

         Sly squinted and lowered his cane a fraction. There was a figure sitting against the cave wall, knees drawn to its chest, taking up as little space as possible. The shadows wrapped around it, cloaking it from his view.

 

         The only person the master thief knew who could hide so effectively in such plain sight was himself. It was a trait passed down in the family, the uncanny ability to remain unnoticed and unseen.

 

         Which meant only one thing.

 

         “Rioichi?” He approached cautiously, lowering his cane completely but keeping a tight grip. “Rioichi Cooper?” The shadow jerked and looked up with wide, gleaming eyes. Sly froze.

 

         It wasn’t Rioichi Cooper.

It was a kit.

 

         She blinked at Sly and Sly blinked at her, both frozen in surprise. Her jade-green eyes were wide in her dark brown mask, bushy little tail coiled around her knees. She couldn’t have been any older than six. Strands of red hair hung in her face from her bun, which was falling apart. If he had to guess, he would have said her hair was just long enough to reach her shoulders when it was down. She stared at him, ears folding, and started to quake, curling up into a tighter ball.

 

         “Hey, hey, it’s all right,” he soothed quickly. She shuffled around in a makeshift nest, never taking her eyes off him. “What are you doing back here- _whoa!”_ Something silver and deadly flashed through the air and clanged against the wall, right where his arm had been a breath earlier. Thank goodness for sharp reflexes.

 

         A _kunai?_ He stared, nonplussed, at the throwing knife on the floor. What kit knew how to use a _kunai?_

 

         He looked back to the girl, who was holding another _kunai_ out at him, her teeth bared. Her expression wavered when the growly gurgle rumbled through the cave again, and she put her other hand to her stomach, looking pained.

 

         _‘She’s hungry.’_ She shook her head, an obvious effort to clear it, and looked back up at him, green eyes full of determination and tears. Sympathy welled easily in him. _‘Hungry and scared.’_

 

         He shrugged his backpack from his shoulders and let it thump to the ground, sitting down next to it. The kit jumped and brandished her knife, squeaking a tiny growl. It would have been adorable if she hadn’t been shaking in terror.

 

         “It’s ok, it’s ok,” Sly soothed, holding up his hand. “I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.” He put his cane on the ground and nudged it away from him. Her green eyes followed it, blinking. Was that… recognition in her eyes?

 

         “Are you hungry?” He reached into his backpack and pulled out the bag of snacks he always kept in case of emergencies, setting it on a dry patch on the floor. Her eyes snapped to the food, but she remained motionless, gaze roving from him to the bag and back to him. He smiled and scooted back to sit against the opposite wall, dragging the pack with him. “Go ahead. I’ll stay way over here.”

 

         She squinted at him, but her stomach groaned again and sent her padding forward, eyeing what he had laid out. It wasn’t much, just some granola mixed with dried fruit and chocolate chips, but she attacked it voraciously. If the foreign snack bothered her, she didn’t let it show, scarfing down greedy handfuls. When the bag was empty and she had licked her fingers clean, she looked to him again.

 

         “…Water?” she whispered, voice thin and raspy, in English. "Please?" Sly unscrewed the cap to his water bottle (another emergency staple) and held it out to her, staying against the wall. The kit tiptoed forward, her desire to be wary warring with her thirst. She finally threw caution away, snatching up the water and gulping it down. Sly felt a pang in his chest. Looking to the corner she had been hiding it, he could make out the shape of a nest, made from old blankets and what looked like clothes.

 

         How long had she been on her own?

 

         The kit coughed, liquid running down her chin to puddle on the floor, and the sound made him glance up.

 

         “Careful,” he warned. She tensed, seeming to realize he was barely two feet away from her. “Don’t choke.” She nodded and finished the bottle more slowly, setting it back down on the ground with a hollow plastic clank.

 

         “T’ank you.” Without the parched croak of thirst to mar it, her voice was sweeter and lighter. He smiled.

 

         “You’re welcome,” he answered. She backed away to plop into her makeshift nest, watching him with those piercing eyes. He waited patiently until she spoke again.

 

         “…Are… Are you a _shinobi?”_ she whispered, hugging her tail. Sly chuckled, recognizing the word.

 

         “Something like that,” he hummed. “My name is Sly,” he told her, purposefully leaving his last name out. “What’s yours?”

 

         “Cooper,” she mumbled back, voice muffled by her tail. “Cooper Akane.” His ear perked.

 

         “Do you know Rioichi Cooper?” he asked. The kit let out a mew, ears drooping low.

 

         “ _Tou-san!”_ she wailed, tears gathering in her eyes. Sly hushed her tenderly, but, despite appearing calm, his mind was whirling.

 

         _Tou-san_ meant father in Japanese.

 

         Which meant this kit was Rioichi Cooper’s daughter.

 

         He wanted to slap himself. Of course Rioichi would have a family; he had to continue the Cooper line somehow. The _Thievius Raccoonus_ usually had a page or two for each Cooper to record his/her partner and their children, but no more- it wasn’t a diary, after all. But he, much to his chagrin now, had skipped over that section to read about Henriette “One-Eye” Cooper, who had the _Thievius Raccoonus_ after Rioichi.

 

         “Do you know where he is?” Sly asked, a new curiosity itching at him. The kit shook her head.

 

         “T’ey took him away,” she sniffed, hiding her face in her hands. “T’e bad men took him _and_ my _Kaa-san!_ T’ey came into our home and t’rew somet’ing icky inside, and _Kaa-san_ and _Tou-san_ could not get up again.” _Kaa-san_ meant mother, which meant Rioichi’s wife was still around too.

 

         “Please, you have to help me get t’em back!" she begged, drawing his attention again. "I do not know how to get t’e guards to leave our home and I… I do not know what to do!” She started to cry, wrapping her tail around herself. “I do not know what to do.”

 

         “That’s why we’re here, Akane,” Sly soothed. He wanted to get up and go to her, but her trust in him was frail and newly born. “We’re going to get rid of the people here, we’re going to get them out of your home, and we’re going to get your mom and dad back, okay?”

 

         “Really?” she whispered, eyes full of a starving desperation. He nodded.

 

         “Really.”

 

         “…O…Okay,” she stuttered. She scrubbed her hands over her eyes, smearing tears into her fur.

 

         “Is there anything you could tell me to help me find them?” he prodded gently.

 

         “Um… I hear t’e guards. T’ey said t’ey were taking _Tou-san_ to the big building. It had an owl on it.” She shivered. “It is a scary place.”

 

         _‘A prison, probably,’_ he thought grimly.

 

         “Anything else?” She shook her head.

 

         “I am sorry,” she mumbled, squeezing her tail.

 

         “It’s ok.” He paused briefly. “Is it all right for my friends and I to stay here while we get the bad people out?” he asked, not entirely sure what to do if she said no. But she nodded earnestly, so he reached up to touch his earpiece.

 

         “Bentley, I found us a safe house,” he commed. Akane stared at him from her nest and jumped when she heard a second voice.

 

         _“Took you long enough!”_ Sly rolled his eyes. _“I’ve got a lock on your location. Murray and I are on our way.”_

“See you soon.” Akane watched him with an open mouth.

 

         “How did you…?”

 

         “Oh, uh.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I have a thing in my ear,” he explained, taking out the piece of plastic and holding it up. She got up to take a closer look, resettling herself at his side. “It lets me hear and talk to my friends.” She hummed.

 

         “I have not seen my friends since _Kaa-san_ and _Tou-san_ got taken away.” She hugged her knees to her chest, resting her chin on them. “No one goes outside anymore.” Unable to help himself, he reached out and rubbed one of her ears between his thumb and two fingers. It was a trick his father had often used on him when he was little to soothe him. Akane hummed again, happier, and leaned against him.

 

         “We’re going to get them back.” He put an arm around her and tucked her against his side. “I promise.” She leaned into him, purring softly.

 

         “T’ank you.”

 

         Not sixty seconds later, something grumbled at the cave’s entrance. Headlights gleamed through the vines, tires squeaking and rolling over the stones. Sly smiled and got to his feet, retrieving his cane in the process, but Akane squeaked in fear, throwing her arms around his waist.

 

         “It’s ok, it’s ok,” he tried to calm. The van broke through the hanging vines, its front bumper painted with flames and lights glaring, and she dove behind him, clinging to the hem of his sweater and peeking out over his hip.

 

         “It is a _yokai,”_ she whimpered. “It is going to eat us!”

 

         “No, no,” Sly chuckled. “It’s uh… It’s like a really big cart.” She frowned at him, unconvinced. “It just doesn’t have any animals to pull it.” Her frown deepened. He was saved from further explanations when Bentley and Murray, having parked the van into a neat little niche, jumped out and looked to him. Akane’s eyes got impossibly wide, leaning out to get a better look but keeping her fingers twisted into his sweater.

 

         “Who’s this?” Bentley asked, sounding politely curious but giving the master thief an incredulous look.

 

         “This is Akane,” Sly answered, not fazed by the stare. The kit ducked fully behind his legs. “Rioichi’s daughter.”

 

         “Daughter?” Bentley took off his glasses and started polishing them furiously. The raccoon could almost see the calculations scrolling across the turtle’s mind as he added in this new and unexpected variable to their tentative plans. He put his glasses back on and blinked a few times. “Daughter?”

 

         “Yeah,” Sly answered simply, coaxing Akane out from behind him and crouching down next to her. She looked up at him nervously, a tiny, uncertain whine escape her lips. He rested a hand on top of her hair, cutting the sound off. “Akane, that’s Bentley. He’s one of my friends, the one you heard in my ear.” She nodded, but still appeared wary. He switched tactics. “Are you still hungry?”

 

         “…Yes,” she admitted, shuffling her feet.

 

         “Hungry?” The two raccoons looked up to see Murray looming over them. Well, it was looming to Akane. She threw herself into Sly’s chest, peeking up at the enormous man. The hippo was undeterred.

 

         “Being hungry is _awful_ ,” he declared. “It’s gotta be, like, the worst thing in the world, right?” Tentatively, the kit nodded, ears lifting from her hair. She took a cautious half step from Sly, but kept a hand on his forearm.

 

         “I gave her some granola, but-” Sly didn’t get a chance to finish, because Murray was making a disgusted face.

 

         _“Granola?_ That oat stuff?” The master thief nodded, fighting down the urge to smirk. “ _Yuck!_ Let’s get you something good to eat, yeah?” She hesitated and looked to Sly.

 

         “Akane, this is my other friend: Murray,” he introduced. The big man waved and Akane twitched her fingers at him. “I know he looks scary, but he’s just a giant goofball. Honest.” The kit managed a timid smile and a swish of her tail.

 

         “ _Hai,_ _oniisan_.” Sly’s ears pricked at the title, but Akane was already taking Murray’s hand and allowing herself to be led to the van. The hippo immediately dove into their supply boxes and started putting together a proper meal, which appeared to consist of some bread and butter slathered generously with jam, a cheese stick, and a glass of milk. The master thief saw Murray stir a generous amount of honey into the drink and sighed fondly.

 

         “Where did you find her?” Bentley rolled up to him, nodding to the kit.

 

         “She was already here,” he replied, gesturing to the makeshift nest. “It took me forever to notice her, and the only reason I did was because her stomach growled.” He shook his head in amazement. “If she’s anything to go by, I can’t wait to see what her father is like.” He went serious, looking down at the genius. “She watched her parents get taken from their home and managed to get out. From what she’s heard, Rioichi’s being held in-”

 

         “The imperial prison.” Bentley finished for him, letting out a sigh. “I sent out my RC chopper to get an aerial map of the area, but it’s not as detailed as I need it to be.” He sent Sly a sidelong glance. “You up for some recon?”

 

         “Always,” Sly grinned, glancing over his shoulder at Akane. She was finishing her meal, happily sipping at the milk and swinging her feet from the back end of the van with Murray sitting close by. The hippo, feeling his gaze, flashed him a double thumbs up; the kit would be well taken care of.

 

         “I’m going to need some pictures of the armor the guards are wearing and of the local buildings,” Bentley was saying. He nodded.

 

         “I can do that.” He headed for the entrance of the cave, waving over to Akane as he did so. “See ya soon, kit.” She waved in return, aglow with the prospect of seeing her father again. Sly smiled, tipped his cap to her, and disappeared into the night.


	11. Break In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: brief mentions of/implied torture and non-con
> 
> Translations:  
> Tanuki – a raccoon dog

         Calia had never bitten off more than she could chew, but this situation was proving to need more chewing than she had been expecting to give it.

 

         For one, the blimp hurtling off into the depths of a blue, white-streaked tunnel where everything seemed to float and sink at the same time? Not exactly the norm, even for her. After successfully regaining her bearings, she left the large aircraft to find herself in Japan.

 

         About _four_ _hundred years_ younger than it should have been.

 

         Surmising that the blimp wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon (apparently, it was waiting for some sort of delivery, withholding supplies until said delivery was completed) and she would not be permanently stranded, she snuck off to do some exploring. She had already nabbed a pack from her unknowing and unknown host and filled it with provisions. Establishing a base camp was her next order of business.

 

         She had not been expecting time travel when she went to investigate the museum. She expected the black market artifacts, the high-tech weapons, and the various toxins she found in both liquid and gaseous form. Despite bearing the mysterious museum patron’s symbol, the rat mercenaries stunk of a larger corporation, one with more power than their current leader was able to exert.

 

         Still, he did appear to have enough influence to orchestrate a job extending both space _and_ time. He was no doubt wealthy, with connections to the underworld. The most likely suspect was the patron of the museum himself, Cyril Le Paradox, an aging skunk who had planted himself firmly in the upper class through his exhibitions of ancient artifacts.

 

         But then she had overhead something… odd while hiding out on the blimp. The name “Cooper” had come up several times, in various contexts. Whoever was in charge of the operation had issues with the family. As far as she knew about Le Paradox, he had no ties to the Coopers. Yes, he had been imprisoned for thievery as a young man (thank you, Matiz, for the tip), but Sly had barely been five at the time.

 

         Perhaps Le Paradox had some connections with Sly’s father…

 

         And Sly had been at the museum. At this point, it was more than just coincidence. He had been there on purpose, but for what reason?

 

         Calia shook her head. To answer the questions she was asking, she needed access to technology she didn’t have. Until then, she would have to do things the old fashioned way.

 

         She came upon a plaza, lined with cobblestone and moss, framed on one side by a river. Colorful paper lanterns were strung along the swooping roofs, almost like neon lights. A fountain blurbled peacefully at its center, a statue of a reclining rhino geisha at its center. Guards were posted outside one of the buildings, snorting amongst themselves. Frowning, she took to the shadows, turning her gaze to the rest of the square. There were several homes, but their interiors were lit, so she took her chances with the largest building, a geisha house from the looks of things. Excellent- large buildings always had unvisited corners. An unlit window gleamed down from the upper levels, suggesting the presence of an attic.

 

         Perfect.

 

         Easily scaling the roof, she slid it open and ducked inside. Wooden boxes and crates lined the walls, old kimonos with holes and broken fans and parasols set out over them. A handful of moths fluttered around the window, cobwebs stretching across the corners. A low skittering noise suggested the presence of a few mice in the walls. A trapdoor was built into the floor, allowing the residents below to gain access. There were very few disturbances in the dust, and those that existed were only near this door. People who ventured into the attic never went very far. A test of the boards revealed only one creaking section, which she made note to avoid.

 

         It would serve her nicely for the time being.

 

         Calia shucked off her stolen backpack, returning to the window and easing herself onto the roof. Time for some investigating. Starting with the guarded building across the bridge didn’t seem like a bad place to begin…

 

**~***~**

 

         Sly crouched on one of the ancient-style streetlamps, going through the pictures he had already taken. A number of boars leered from the binocucom’s screen, their armor caught in detail. The dragons guarding the formidable gates built into the mountains managed to look both majestic and threatening. The looming prison where Rioichi was being held was a nightmare to rival the Contessa's "correctional facility." The stacked roofs speared up into the sky, the decorations lining the edges clawing at the air. He grimaced and sent the pictures to Bentley so he could start analyzing them.

 

         His next order of business was to get to Rioichi’s restaurant itself. Jumping to a nearby roof, it was a short jaunt to the square. He took a few more photos along the way, knowing Bentley would appreciate the extra details about their new surroundings. That, and he would be adding them to his own collection. Ancient Japan was absolutely stunning.

 

         The square was quiet and dull, devoid of people aside from the stony-faced guards. He huffed a breath at them, glaring down at the boars standing at attention in from of the doors.

 

         But the window was open. Lucky him. Seizing his opportunity, he jumped from the roof to the pole that would normally hold the restaurant’s sign. It bent under his weight, but the bamboo was strong, snapping back upright and swinging him inside. He twisted in midair, grabbed the edge of a rafter, and flipped himself upright. More guards, the same heavily armed boars he had seen everywhere, patrolled the floors.

 

         Sly prowled along the support beam so he could look at the door normal people would enter from. Considering the shapes carved into the wood, it looked like he would need knives to open them up. A glance at the guards revealed several had large knives tucked into the belts. He snapped a quick picture of both and slipped his binocucom back into his leg pouch. He scanned the room one last time and reached up for his earpiece.

 

         “They outfitted this place with state of the art security systems,” he murmured, watching the hogs from the rafters. "Stuff we would be up against back home." Bentley gave a nervous hum.

 

         _"I'm beginning to like the looks of things less and less,"_ he admitted. _"What else do you have for me?"_

 

         “Well, it’s crawling with guards. I think-”

 

         Something rattled nearby and then a plate shattered, cutting him off. The guards leapt up, shouting all at once.

 

         “I _told_ you,” one whined, holding his lantern up. “This place is cursed! Taken without honor!”

 

         “And _I_ told _you_ ,” another snorted. “That you’ve had too much _sake_!”

 

         The hogs grumbled at each other a little longer before settling back in their stations. The room was gradually emptied, save for one guard, who quickly fell asleep in a chair, snoring loud enough to rattle the windows.

 

         Sly made a face and sat back on his heels, cane resting across his bent knees. There was nothing he could do at the moment, the lights and decorative points too far away for him to attempt a Ninja Spire Jump to get to the rest of the rafters. He heaved a silent sigh and looked away from the floor, rubbing his mouth.

 

         Across from him, the air rippled with movement. He froze.

 

         The thing… It had… but how could it have possibly…? His earpiece gave an angry whine, short and sharp, and shut itself off. Sly continued to stare. He could feel a gaze on him, even if he couldn’t see the eyes, and tensed accordingly, ready to spring. This was the last place he wanted to start a fight, but he would if he had to. The air rippled.

 

         The distorted shape filled with color and soon, there was a regular looking person kneeling across from him. They were slight of stature, a tail swishing behind them, features hidden by a facemask. A glance at their belt revealed no weapons. They probably avoided contact completely, but Sly had no doubt they knew how to defend themselves if needed. Dark eyes, too far away to make out the color, peered out from the depths of a gray cowl, the crinkle at their edges suggesting a smirk.

 

         He blinked, certainly not expecting the sudden change of events. The crinkles deepened and they cocked their head.

 

         _Are we going to have a problem?_

 

         Giving himself a little shake, he touched his hat lightly in response.

 

         _Not unless you cause one._

 

         They nodded and looked away.

 

         _I’ll stay out of your way then._

 

         They jumped down from the rafters and soundlessly hit the ground, knees bent in a low crouch. A guard snuffled, scratching its snout, and settled back into sleep. They waved up to Sly ( _See ya!_ ) and disappeared in a ripple. The master thief remained where he was, thoughtful. Then his earpiece squealed and crackled back to life.

 

         _“-eed to take a look at these things,”_ Bentley was complaining. _“Something must have happened to them at the museum.”_

 

         “I don’t think it’s the ear pieces,” Sly replied absently, climbing out of the window he had entered. “I saw the… whatever it was here.”

 

         _“What!?”_ Bentley yelped. _“How did it follow us?!”_

 

         “No clue, but we’ve reached an understanding,” he assured the panicky turtle, scaling the side of a roof and finding a nice spot on a wire where he could get a clear picture of the Geisha House.

_“An understanding?”_ Bentley repeated, not sounding any happier.

 

         “Yup.” He pulled out his binocucom and adjusted the focus before snapping a picture. “All right, pal, I’m heading back. I-”

 

         The doors to the Geisha House parted, cutting him off. A raccoon-ness slipped out, shutting them quietly behind her before turning to face the square.

 

         She was utterly striking. It was the only way to describe her. Her blonde hair, a shy, pale gold, was piled up in an intricate topknot on her head, held in place by a butterfly comb. It matched the rest of her fur, save for her mask and delicate tail rings, which were an ashy white. She wore a simple, two-layer silk kimono: a white robe under a green patterned one. Twirling pink cherry blossoms covered the hem and long sleeves, reaching up to meet at a V-shaped neckline. It ended low enough to expose the curves of her full breasts. Her pretty lips, painted a shade of pink to match the blossoms, were pressed into a tight line, the only indication of emotion in her otherwise impassive face.

 

         Sly snapped a photo without really thinking about it, startled by the sound of the shutter. Her green eyes, green like polished jade, stared at him through the photo as if she knew someone was taking her picture.

 

         Perhaps she did.

 

         Before he could continue to ponder, the doors to the geisha house were thrown open again. They slammed against the frame with a jarring rattle. The master thief twitched at the loud noise, but quickly refocused his attention on the person exiting: a tiger, a dark scowl on his face. Two deadly looking _katana_ were strapped over his back; the implants in their hilts glowed with electric light. He strutted around on long legs, muscled arms crossed over his chest. His teeth were bared in a permanent snarl, a thick cigar tucked into the corner of his mouth, fangs tinted yellow from tobacco.

 

         _‘Where have I seen that ugly mug before?’_ Sly squinted at the tiger. The binocucom buzzed in his palm, and he retreated to a safer distance to answer it.

 

         _“Sly, I’m sure I recognize that guy!”_ Bentley looked badly startled, gestures wide and magnified eyes blinking rapidly. _“He’s wanted by Interpol! He’s a ruthless mercenary general, responsible for overthrowing several small countries!”_

 

         It clicked now, where he had seen the tiger before. They had been on Carmelita’s desk, in a folder for her to review. A photo had been hanging out, depicting the face of a savage tiger, leering out at the camera. Charges included unlawful possession of weapons, treason, sexual assault, conspiracy, rape, and assassination/murder. Psychologically, he had been described as a narcissist and a psychopath, but it didn't make him less of a leader. He was cunning and willing to win by any means necessary.

 

         “El Jefe,” Sly murmured, still watching the tiger. He had prowled over to the fountain, to the raccoon-ness, who had tensed but otherwise ignored him. He seized her arm and wrenched her to her feet. She twisted out of his grip and started walking toward the caves, shoulders thrown back in defiance. He followed, sighing out a lungful of smoke, the wisps curving around his fangs, while his eyes traced her backside.

 

         It made Sly’s skin crawl.

 

         “Bentley…” He shook his head. “What kind of mess are we in?”

 

         _“I don’t know, but one thing’s for certain- my hunch was correct.”_ Pleasure at being right was quickly defeated by the worry on Bentley’s face. _“We aren’t the only ones with a time machine.”_ He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Sly watched the tiger and the raccoon-ness disappear into the darkness of the caves, chewing the inside of his lip.

 

         “Have you found me a way into the prison?” he asked.

 

         _“Yeah, I have, but don’t you want to rest?”_ Bentley wondered, looking a little concerned. _“It’s been a hell of a day, Sly.”_

 

         “No,” he answered shortly, shaking his head. “I want to find Rioichi, get him back with Akane, and start fixing things.” Static. “Please, Bentley.”

 

         _“…”_ The turtle sighed, smiling softly to himself. _“When am I going to learn you’re the most stubborn and stupidly noble person on earth?”_

 

         “I don’t know, but it would certainly make my life easier,” the master thief laughed. The genius rolled his eyes.

 

         _“I’ve done a complete check of the prison, but there really is no way in except for the front entrance. You’re going to have to steal a suit of armor from the local armory.”_ Sly nodded.

 

         “I’m on it. Just show me the way.” Obligingly, a little holographic arrow appeared at his feet through the binocucom’s screen. _“Thanks, Bentley.”_

 

         “Of course, Sly. Let me know when you've got the armor.” Bentley closed out of the comm link and sat back. A humorless chuckle escaped him. He should have known his little brother would be dead set on finding his ancestor. Family always came first for Sly, blood relations or no.

 

         _‘Though,’_ he supposed, rubbing his chin. _‘This_ is _the first time he’s getting to interact with his biological family.’_

 

         The thought sunk in. Bentley’s bowtie became too tight and his shell far too small. He wheeled back from the table, staring at his feet. A weight settled in his heart, dragging at it like an anchor drags over the ground. He shook his head and looked out at the rest of the room, seeking a distraction.

 

         Across the cave, Akane and Murray were bent over sheets of paper. The kit was showing the large man how to make an origami butterfly, chattering to him all the while as she deftly made the creases. There was a flock of cranes perched next to her and a field of flowers blooming in her lap, steadily growing in number. The hippo had a look of absolute concentration on his face as he folded the delicate paper between his meaty hands, tongue between his teeth, but soon he held up a delicate butterfly in triumph. Akane clapped her in delight and offered him one of her flowers to put the butterfly on, which he did so very carefully. The kit immediately started making more, clever fingers folding and smoothing the paper. Murray patted the top of her head and meandered over to Bentley, content.

 

         “Hey,” he greeted. “Is Sly coming back?”

 

         “No, he’s heading into the prison to free Rioichi,” he explained. “Well, first he’s going to steal some armor from the armory, which will be difficult, but I’m confident in his ability to pull it off. I expect it’ll take him precisely ten minutes to complete the job (seven to get to the armory and three to collect the armor). From there I can direct him to the prison, and then-”

 

         “You’re babbling, pal,” the hippo cut him off, crouching next to him and setting a hand on his back. “What’s on you’re mind?”

 

         Curse Murray and his keen sense of observation. Bentley blamed the Guru for honing the skill.

 

         “…I… came to a realization,” he confessed. The big man waited expectantly. “This, being here…” He pushed his fingers under his glasses and rubbed his eyes, stifling a yawn. No, he couldn’t be tired now. If Sly was going to push himself to exhaustion, the least he could do was keep up. “Murray, this is the first time Sly’s getting to meet his family. The fact they’re being threatened… It’s really setting him off.” The hippo nodded and patted his shell.

 

         “Yeah,” he agreed, recalling the raccoon’s emotional state when they had gotten to the cave. It had been like running his hand over a naked flame. Sly was like the sun, burning hot and bright with a thousand different emotions: rage, guilt, fear, sorrow, heartache, hope, eagerness, joy, curiosity. It was a wonder that the master thief hadn’t just combusted then and there. “We’re here for him though.”

 

         “I know.” Bentley dragged his hands down his face and let them fall into his lap. “…Do you ever get the feeling that we aren’t enough?”

 

         “What, for Sly?” Murray blinked. “He says we’re his family and he means it. And we are a family. We have been since we were kids.”

 

         “No, I know that,” the turtle insisted, waving his hand. “It’s just… not quite fair, is it? That he never got to know his family, not really. And you and me… we don’t have any idea what that’s like.”

 

         It was true. While they both grew up in an orphanage, Bentley and Murray both technically had families.

 

         Bentley had been given up as an egg by teenage parents, but they had remained a part of his life. They visited him, took him out on holidays, and sent him cards on his birthday. When he turned eighteen, he had firmly but gently cut them out of his life before setting off to form the Cooper Gang. His parents had been understanding, but reminded him that their doors were always open if he needed them.

 

         Murray was more familiar with loss. His mother passed away when he was two and his father left before he ever knew he was going to be a father. He had been raised by his grandmother, a feisty old woman whose failing health forced her to place her grandson in the orphanage. She had passed when Murray was seventeen.

 

         Sly had no one and nothing and hadn’t since he turned eight. It made Bentley feel… guilty somehow. And sad. And like, despite anything and everything Sly told them, no matter how truthful and earnest, they weren't enough.

 

         “Do you know what Sly would say right now?” Murray asked, as if reading his thoughts. Bentley started and then shook his head. The hippo grinned, cuffing him lightly around the head.

 

         “‘You’re being an idiot, genius.’”

 

**~***~**

 

         Sly slipped quietly into the armory, looking around. There was only one guard, but he seemed unusually alert, constantly walking the perimeter of the small, mannequin filled room, lantern held high. The master thief smirked to himself.

 

         Piece of cake.

 

         He stepped into the guard’s shadow when he passed, hooking an ornate helmet with his cane. Next came the leggings, which he threw over one shoulder. The guard paused and he coiled, readying himself to spring into the shadows. The boar snuffled for a second, inspecting the chest plate Sly needed to complete the armor disguise. He waited, patience slowly but surely waning into impatience. The guard moved and he snagged the final piece from where it hung on a stand, slipping out of the armory and in between two buildings.

 

         “This stuff is huge, Bentley,” he commed, tugging the pieces on. First the leggings, which dug into his hips, and then the chest plate, heavy across his shoulders. He put the mask on and was amazed that he could see at all.

 

         “How does anyone move in this?” he complained, swinging his leg in a comically wide step. The armor clanked loudly around him, screaming for attention, but the guards that noticed his passing only snapped him a salute and moved on.

 

         _“It’s a commander’s armor, made for the boars,”_ Bentley told him. _“I can resize it for you when you get back to the safe house, but for now, you’re going to have to deal.”_

 

         The trek to the entrance of the Imperial Prison was arduous and uphill, but he made it nonetheless. Rolling his shoulders against the weight of the metal, he approached the main entrance. But before he stepped into the light and revealed himself, he paused. Tipping his head up and to the side, he scoured the roofs. There was nothing there.

 

         _‘No owl,’_ he noted, frowning thoughtfully. _‘What could Akane have been talking ab… out…?'_ The idea became too horrible to continue, chilling him enough to force a shiver.

 

         Akane must have seen Clockwerk perched on top of the prison. It was the only explanation. She must have never seen it before, or even known about its existence. Her reaction would have been quite different otherwise.

 

         He shivered again and hoped she never had to know about that monster, even though he knew she would. They all came to know it at some point or another, but he didn’t need to consider that right now. All he had to do was free her father and get the two back together. And so, he took a breath to steady himself and stepped into the light.

 

         “You there, open the door!” he snapped, dropping his tone a few octaves and injecting a sharp growl into his voice. The guard shoved a lantern in his face with a snort. It took every ounce of the raccoon’s willpower to not gag at the boar’s sour breath.

 

         “Hmph!” The guard’s small black eyes narrowed in suspicion. “A little short to be a commander, aren’t you?” The light moved closer. “Who are you?”

 

         “Why I am…” Sly searched for a name inside his head for something, _anything_ convincing. Only one came up. “Major Muggshot!” Through his earpiece, he heard Bentley give an explosive snort of laughter.

 

         “Huh? Muggshot?” The guard straightened, glaring down at him. A hand strayed toward his crossbow. “I’ve never heard of you.”

 

         “You dare question me!? Son, I’ve been a guard since you a squealing piglet!” Sly growled, shoving a finger in the boar’s face. Then he turned away in mock disgust. “Wait until I tell the General about this.” He half-turned to throw a barb over his shoulder. “I hear he loves _pork chops_ …”

 

         The master thief could practically hear the blood draining from the guard’s face.

_'Heh. Gotcha.'_

 

         “Wait! I’m very sorry, sir, I-I didn’t recognize you!” The large man blurted. He stepped aside and gestured to the gates, head bowed in submission. “Please, go right in!” he insisted.

 

         Sly heaved a sigh, hoping he sounded more annoyed than amused as he marched passed the guard and into the prison.

 

         The heat greeted him first. It was a thick, uncomfortable thing, like being trapped in a too warm blanket. He grimaced under the helmet, already feeling himself break out in a sweat. Boars lined the walls of the room and down the wooden pathways, snapping him salutes as he went.

 

         He passed a few cells, swallowing thickly at their occupants. A beaten macaque with blood-matted fur. A catatonic red squirrel covered in burns. A hollow-eyed _tanuki_ shivering in the corner. A weeping sable trying to tend to the bloody bite mark on her shoulder. It appeared El Jefe wasn’t just a mercenary general, but a sadist as well. Pressing his lips together, he turned away from them. His goal right now was to free Rioichi and get him away from this hellhole. He would stick it to the tiger later.

 

         He moved deeper into the prison until he came to a platform built over an enormous cavern, mists swirling and churning in the deep hole. It was at least a football field wide, and Sly didn’t even want to guess how deep it was, peering into the billowing gray fog. It could have only been a few feet or a few hundred, but he wasn’t keen on finding out.

 

         There was a cage supported by thick, industrial grade chains hanging from the ceiling, a good twenty feet from any platform and padlocked for extra measure. Sly’s breath caught in his throat when he caught sight of its occupant.

 

         Rioichi Cooper.


	12. Fanboy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: none, I think; let me know if that’s not the case
> 
> Translations:  
> Arigatou gozaimasu – thank you very much  
> Oniisan – older brother  
> Aijou – beloved daughter  
> Kakute – a poison ring; it looked like a normal ring with a spike or several spikes coming out of it  
> Ninjato – a short sword, smaller than a katana  
> Neko-te – a weapon used historically by female ninjas; the looked like little claws  
> Shuriken – throwing stars  
> Aisai- beloved wife

         Though he would vehemently deny it if asked, Sly had what could only be described as a “fanboy moment.” Excitement, nervousness, sheer awe: they all jockeyed for dominance, his chest tight with the storm of emotion. Giddiness won out as he approached the cage, watching the master ninja through the slits of the armor.

 

         The red raccoon (Sly remembered the _Thievius Raccoonus_ stating that Rioichi’s father had been at least half, if not completely, red panda) appeared to be mediating, hands resting on his knees. The master thief grimaced at the sight of shackles coiled around his ancestor’s wrists and leading from his ankles. Even from the platform below, he could tell they were too tight, no doubt wearing away fur and chaffing at the skin underneath.

 

         But before he could actually free his ancestor, he had to let him know he had an ally in the prison.

 

         “Hey! Rioichi Cooper! Are you ok?”

 

         Rioichi’s ears twitched at the sound of his name and he opened his bronze eyes slowly, lazily even. It wasn't because he wasn’t alert- he had found his lack of reaction to be a great source of irritation for the boar guards patrolling the prison and a great source of amusement to him. He flicked his gaze down, seeing a rather… strange figure standing on the platform. It couldn’t have been one of the guards; the armor was five times too large for them, nor were they a boar. In fact, the armor was _so_ big, Rioichi couldn’t even tell who or what the figure was.

 

         But they still looked like a guard and that was good enough reason for him to throw a bit of sass their way.

 

         “You guards all seem to make _very_ poor jokes!” he drawled, letting boredom color his tone and a glare narrow his almond-shaped eyes.

 

         Back on the ground, Sly scoffed, twirling nimbly out of his heavy disguise.

 

         “C’mon! I’m not one of those bozos!” he shouted in a whisper, crossing his arms over his chest. Rioichi’s sat up, surprise lighting his bronze eyes. Sly grinned. “I’m here to bust you out! The name’s Sly…” Again, he was forced to trail off, worried how he might affect his own history if he revealed his identity too soon. He covered his slip by keeping his smile in place, resting his cane over his shoulder.

 

         “A fellow ninja!” Rioichi hummed, standing and giving him a small bow. “Very good!” His hands came up again to grip the bars of his cage, chains rattling, and he nodded behind him. “You will need to make your way to t’e Dragon Bridge to reach t’is cage!” He turned back to Sly. “Hurry up!”

 

         “Ok, I’ll be there soon, just … Stay put!” Sly told him, and almost cringed at his word choice. ‘ _Stay put!? Stay put!?’_ he shrieked inwardly. ' _He’s in a cage,_ idiot! _Where else is he gonna go!?'_

 

         A low chuckle reached his ears and he looked back up. Rioichi was smirking down at him, leaning against the bars on his forearms.

 

         “Very funny.”

 

**~***~**

 

         “Rioichi Cooper!” Sly couldn’t help but gush a little as he moved through the halls; the feels in his chest were getting a little too massive to handle non-verbally. He slipped into a room, staying in the shadows as he surveyed the guards noisily scarfing down food. “He’s amazing! I’m probably his biggest fan.”

 

         _“Fanboy,_ ” Bentley snickered. He didn’t argue because it was true. He crept up to the table and snuck under before anyone noticed, not that they were paying attention. He stood back up on the other side, darting into the carved hall. He skidded to a stop when a set of mechanical dragon heads popped up, mouths pouring flames. His fur prickled uncomfortably at the heat before Bentley’s voice sounded in his ear.

 

         _“The armor you stole is fireproof,”_ the turtle assured him. His trust in the other was strong enough that he put the disguise on and walked into the blaze without further hesitation. It licked against the metal, warming it, scorching it lightly, but the flames couldn’t get to his body. Letting out the breath he had been holding, he passed the fire, pausing to cool down. He shucked off the armor to slip through a narrow passage in the floor, dragging it behind him.

 

         “Rioichi Cooper,” he murmured again to himself. “I must have read about him in the _Thievius Raccoonus_ a million times!”

 

         It was true; he practically knew the master ninja’s writings by heart. His Ninja Spire Jump and Landing were one of the most useful tools in the Cooper arsenal. It had been intimidating to learn though. One misstep and… Sly shook his head, shivering. Anyways, the man was a legend for his skill and for his ability to lead a life both inside and outside of everyday society. Running a popular restaurant _and_ pulling numerous heists? Not easy things to juggle. There were even rumors of Rioichi being something of a war hero. The man was amazing and Sly had idolized him from early childhood, when his father had first told him about his heritage.

 

         Coming up on another room full of guards, the master thief paused, eyes on the locked gate across the floor. He went to put his armor on and take care of it when he felt the binocucom give a faint buzz in his thigh pouch. He ducked out of view and answered it, lifting it to eye-level.

 

         _“Sly, I don’t think you can break the lock on that gate.”_ Bentley’s face was grim. Sly opened his mouth to protest, but the turtle spoke over him. “ _And even if you could, there’s no time. Someone would notice you.”_

 

         “Thanks, Bentley,” he quipped. “How about some good news?”

 

         _“Look around, Sly. One of these guards must have the key._ ”

 

         “See? That’s more like it!” he praised. Bentley rolled his eyes and signed out. Sly tucked the communication device away and put the armor back on again, moving around the guards, inspecting their pockets. His fingers tingled as he neared one, a sure sign that they had something worthwhile on their person.

 

         Removing the armor, which was too heavy for him to lift his arm properly, he reached into the guard’s pocket. A nimble twitch of the hand and viola! Casting a cursory glance around (most of the guards were falling asleep, overworked by their boss), he retreated to the door and inspected his find.

 

         It was a silvery skeleton key, handle intricately carved, prongs made to fit almost any keyhole. Sly made a mental note to hold onto it as he crept to the gate and slipped it into the lock. The massive gears turned and creaked, finally lifting to give him access to the main room. From across the way, Rioichi watched him intently, sitting ramrod straight. Sly frowned, walking forward in measured, cautious steps. The “Dragon Bridge” was an awfully big name for such an average looking-

 

         Something gave way beneath his foot. He looked down to find the ornate jade platform he was standing on sink a few inches, air and dust hissing. A nervous laugh escaped him as the bridge started to shake.

 

         “Whoops!” Something whistled through the air and he sidestepped a stalactite before it could run him through. The whole room was beginning to crumble, guards thrown off platforms into the misty void below, mechanical dragon heads popping up and spewing gouts of fire. Rioichi dropped his head into his palm, shaking his head. Sly felt a pang in his chest. He hadn’t gotten to meet his ancestor for more than sixty seconds and he was already letting him down. Great.

 

         Well, he wouldn’t be a disappointment for long.

 

         He leapt onto a narrow stalagmite as it jutted from the ground, swinging to a hanging brazier. A flamethrower whipped around to him, juddering and spitting out projectiles. He dodged, grabbing for his shield when the other dragon head started to shudder too. The fireball crashed into the metal, but he was already punching forward, sending it sailing back into the mouth of the dragon. He twisted and did the same to the other. Both shattered and he leapt forward, landing nimbly on the points of more stalagmites, and finally coming within reach of the cage. He fitted the skeleton key to the lock, ear flicking at the satisfying click. He pulled it free and pushed the door open.

 

         “I do not know you,” Rioichi murmured, watching as Sly opened the locks to the chains around his wrists and ankles. “But only a true Cooper could have reached t’is cage.”

 

         “Yeah, I didn’t want to alarm you,” the master thief explained, getting to his feet and letting the shackles fall away into the void below. Good riddance. “But my full name is Sly Cooper. I’m your relative…” He smiled awkwardly. “From the future.”

 

         “Do not worry," the red raccoon dismissed, rubbing the feeling back into his hands and pulling up the hood of his tunic. “Ninja are never alarmed. With all t’at has happened here lately, I believe you.” The sound of guards approaching the crumbling room reached their ears. “Now, perhaps you and I should leave before we are _both_ put into cages?”

 

         “Right! Of course!” Sly swung himself out and allowed Rioichi to leap to safety first. The master ninja grabbed the ring hanging from a torch and swung himself gracefully to a stalagmite, twisting into his famous Ninja Spire Landing. Sly forced himself not to squeak in excitement, and was quick to follow, landing next to his ancestor on the other side of the platform.

 

         The floor dropped out from under them in a sudden motion and started to crack, rocks dropping from the edge to fill the pit. A ripple nearly threw Sly from the ledge, his feet skidding against the crumbling stone, unable to find purchase. The skeleton key flew from his grip, sailing into the cavern. Like lightning, Rioichi snatched his cane and hooked him by the waist, yanking him back to stable ground.

 

         “Thanks,” he breathed. Rioichi nodded and helped him to his feet.

 

         “Let us leave t’is awful place.” Sly nodded, taking his offered cane.

 

         “C’mon, follow me,” he ordered, running into the hallway. The whole prison was in chaos, guards running this way and that, but they evaded them for the most part, melting with the shadows, travelling overhead when they could. Whatever trap Sly had sprung was bringing everything down, a failsafe to prevent escape, though it seemed to have the opposite effect. The master thief couldn’t hold back a pleased smile at the sight of the empty cells, their occupants free at last. Now, if only they could get free themselves.

 

         “Sly! Sly, over here!” The master thief skidded to a stop, nearly passing a hallway. A familiar face grinned at him, holding the handles of a wooden rickshaw.

 

         “Bentley thought you might need some backup!” Murray explained. Sly grinned.

 

         “Bless that big brain of his,” he praised. He turned to Rioichi, who was eying the big man curiously. “This is my friend, Murray,” he explained quickly, hearing the guards rushing up the hall. “He’ll help us get out of here.” The master ninja nodded.

 

         “Hop in!” the big man encouraged. The two raccoons jumped into the cart with no further prompting. Murray took up the handles, wheeling them around as easily as Bentley wheeled himself around in his chair. The guards arrived at the hall, shouting.

 

         “Go, Murray!” Sly yelled.

 

         _“You got it!”_ The hippo barreled forward with a roar, smashing through the boars. Sly grinned, gripping the side of the rickshaw to stay in as it jarred over the ground. They crashed through every obstacle, every guard, and finally through the gates themselves. A quick look revealed there were side gates, leading to a road winding down from the prison.

 

         They left the shouts and chaos of the half-collapsing building far behind them, rushing through the town. When they were back in the heart of the village, Sly convinced Murray to ease off on the speed, looking around for a good place to stash their newly acquired rickshaw.

 

         “You can hide it t’ere,” Rioichi told the hippo, pointing to the caves. Murray nodded and adjusted their course, pulling into the caverns. A pair of fortified doors, fitted into the stone walls, glared at them as they entered. The red raccoon scowled uneasily at the metal while the other two concealed the wooden cart in some dense foliage.

 

         “Thanks for coming to get us, big guy.” Sly patted Murray’s side. The hippo beamed.

 

         “No sweat, little buddy,” he assured, offering a fist bump. The master thief chuckled and accepted the gesture. The big man looked passed him then, to Rioichi. “So that’s him.” Sly nodded. Murray favored him with a look he couldn’t name. “Must be pretty cool to actually meet him.” Sly nodded again and let out a breath.

 

         It had been amazing, more than amazing, to run with someone who could keep up, who moved the same way he did. Side by side with another Cooper…. Sly allowed himself a small, private smile before walking over and touching his ancestor’s arm lightly to get his attention, nodding him out of the caves.

 

         “Our safe house isn’t too far away.” He led the way, avoiding the rooftops for Murray’s sake and giving the guards wide berths. The news of Rioichi's escape had yet to reach the village, so they ran into little trouble.

 

         “T’is safe house of yours… Is it a cave near a bridge?” Rioichi asked. He nodded and the red raccoon hummed approvingly, starting to walk. The other two fell into step beside him. “I often use it myself. We will be safe t’ere.”

 

         Sly nodded and glanced at the master ninja, surreptitiously inspecting him for any injuries. He looked healthy enough, his coat dull more from lack of sunlight than malnutrition, eyes clear and bright. His wrists and ankles were a little raw, but they didn’t appear to be bothering him, and he showed no other signs of discomfort. He moved with his head held high, ears pricked for any noise, strides long and confident. When the cave came into view, he allowed Murray and Sly to go ahead of him before following, tugging his hood down as he stepped inside.

 

         “Glad to see you made it,” Bentley greeted.

 

         “Only thanks to the backup you sent,” Sly grinned, nodding to Murray. His smile fell, though, and he glanced at Rioichi before leaning forward. “Where’s Akane?” he murmured to Bentley. The turtle nodded over his shoulder to the second cave.

 

         “I sent her to bed, about an hour ago.” Sly thanked him and waved to Rioichi.

 

         “Come with me,” he said, leading the master ninja to the second, smaller cave. Just as Bentley had said, Akane was curled up in their spare sleeping bag. The red raccoon’s ears snapped up, tail going stiff. Sly smiled. “I thought you might-”

 

         Rioichi brushed passed him silently, kneeling next to his sleeping kit. He didn't reach out to touch her, but his bronze eyes scoured every inch of her for some sign of injury. When he found none, the set of his shoulders fell a little. Sly heard him let out a small breath before leaning forward.

 

         “Akane.” The master ninja’s voice was soft and tender. Fatherly. It was a tone Sly hadn’t heard in a long time. Rioichi put a hand on the kit’s back, rubbing in slow circles. “Akane. Wake up, _aijou_.”

 

         “…Mmm….” The little girl let out a sleepy murmur, hands reaching above the covers to scrub the sleep from her eyes. She opened them, squinting as they adjusted to the dim light. She stretched, squirming free of the blankets, and sat up. Then she stopped, eyes on her father, who smiled serenely. Sly could practically hear her telling herself that this was just a dream, her father wasn’t there, and she would wake up in a few minutes.

 

         “Hello, Akane.” Her face lit up when she realized she was _not_ dreaming and he really was there, sitting next to her bed.

 

         _“Tou-san!”_

 

         She threw herself into his arms, burying her face in his chest. Little whimpers escaped her lips as she held onto him, convinced that he would disappear if she didn’t.

 

         “Akane. My little Akane.” Rioichi nuzzled the girl’s russet hair, wrapping her up in his arms. “You are safe, _aijou_ , you are safe. I am here now.”

 

         She wept in relief and joy, tilting her face up to nose against his jaw. He kissed her forehead, and she clung to his shirtfront, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder while he stroked her back, murmuring to her until all she could do was hiccup. The master ninja hugged her a little tighter, settling on the floor so she could sit in his lap.

 

         _“_ Sly- _oniisan_ found you!” Akane was chirping. “He said he would, _Tou-san_ , but I did not believe him.” She leaned up to wrap her arms around his neck, touching their noses together. Her father chuckled, nuzzling her. She looked back at the master thief, who lingered in the doorway with a fond smile and a faraway look in his eyes. “ _Arigatou gozaimasu,_ _oniisan_.”

 

         “You're welcome,” Sly replied with a low chuckle. “I’ll give you two a few minutes to get reacquainted.” Rioichi nodded his thanks and the other raccoon disappeared back down the tunnel. He turned back to his daughter, cupping the back of her head to kiss her forehead. He caught sight of her messy bun as he did so and was unable to stop a short laugh from escaping him.

 

         “Your _okaasan_ would faint at t’e sight of t’is hair,” he teased, tugging the leather band free and combing through the tangled red tresses with his fingers. The kit purred, tilting her head so his nails scratched at her scalp and around her ears.

 

         “Will she be home soon?” she wondered. Rioichi smiled a sad smile she couldn’t see, beginning to braid the strands together.

 

         “Yes, _aijou._ Soon,” he murmured. The girl nodded, pressing her cheek against his heart. She was almost drunk on the euphoria of having her father with her. Things were going to start going back to normal now, she was sure.

 

         They had to.

 

         Rioichi finished the fishtail braid and tied it off before standing, keeping the kit in his arms. He knew she could walk or cling to his back, but he much preferred to hold her until further notice. Knowing she was receiving something of a treat, she rested her head on his shoulder, purring. He kissed her temple, breathing in her scent, and left the room, moving back to the main cave. There was information he needed to share with his rescuers, and then he would allow himself to rest.

 

         Sly looked up from where he was leaning against the wall, inspecting his cane for any scratches or dents, when Rioichi walked in and took a seat at the table. He shifted Akane, who smiled up at him and turned happy eyes to his hands. The red raccoon was holding a piece of raw wood, something he must have picked up from outside. The red raccoon returned the expression, drawing a knife from some hidden sheath in his belt. The kit was perfectly content with arrangement, snuggling her head into his chest to listen to his heartbeat and watch him carve. She fell into a doze, soothed by the familiar sound and the rhythmic motions.

 

         “She’s happy to have you back,” Sly commented once she drifted off, sitting down near his ancestor. Bentley and Murray joined him, sitting a slightly further distance away. Rioichi nodded, etching in details to his carving, brushing away shavings with his thumb. The master thief watched him work, fascinated, until those long fingers stopped and the knife was put away. The carving was offered to him.

 

         “T’is is t’e man you seek.” The younger raccoon took it and immediately scowled, recognizing the bared teeth and the narrow eyes of the tiger he had seen leaving the Geisha House.

 

         “He is t’e “general” in charge of t’e army in t’e village,” the red raccoon continued. He paused and gave a faint snort of derision. “Truly, he is not’ing more t’an a scoundrel, but he is shrewd and skilled, and t’at makes him dangerous.” He shook his head, absently stroking Akane’s back. “He will stop at not’ing to win a battle, and t’e weapons and met’ods he uses are unlike anyt’ing I have ever seen.”

 

         “He comes from our time,” Bentley explained. “And has access to our technology. But that doesn’t mean we still can’t bring him down.” Rioichi nodded in agreement.

 

         “His weakness lies in his arrogance and in his routine,” he told them. “He likes to boast of his plans, and always checks on certain areas of t’e village, several times a day: t’e Dragon Gates, t’e fishing caverns under t’e mountains, and t’e Geisha House. It is where he spends most of his time when he is in t'e village.” He paused, looking at their map before pointing to an unmarked area. “He is constructing somet’ing behind the Gates, but I cannot tell you what it is or why, only t’at he forces t’e villagers to work t’ere.” He sighed and shook his head. “What I have told you is all t’at I know from listening to the guards. And t’at oversized cat,” he added, rolling his eyes.

 

         “Thank you, Rioichi- _san_.” Bentley folded himself in a polite bow and turned to his computer, running over the notes he had added to his framework of an operation. “This will really help us.” The master ninja smiled kindly.

 

         “Please, call me Rioichi.” He stood, wrapping his other arm around his daughter. She mumbled sleepily and wrapped her tail around herself, chewing its tip. “Now, I should make sure Akane gets some proper sleep.”

 

         “Why don’t you both sleep?” Sly suggested. Rioichi hesitated. “You couldn’t have gotten much in the prison. And it’s almost dawn anyway. I think we all could use some rest,” he added, looking to Bentley and Murray.

 

         “Sounds good to me,” Murray hummed, punctuating his words with a yawn. Bentley simply nodded, rubbing a hand under his glasses. Sly felt a pang of guilt for keeping them up for so long.

 

         Rioichi allowed them to file out before following at a respectful distance, immediately moving to the sleeping spot Akane had been in. She blinked with sleep-glazed eyes, not truly awake, when he set her down and slipped into place next to her. He nudged her until she curled into a ball against his torso, humming to coax her back into a deeper sleep. She yawned once, tiny fangs flashing in the dim light of the strange lantern Murray had lit (it gave off a strange bluish glow and didn’t appear to have any flame), and fell back into slumber.

 

         He pulled the cover around himself and his daughter, resting his head on the soft material. During his imprisonment, he had only been able to catch brief snatches of naps, and the exhaustion he had ignored for so long was wrapping around him in tight coils. His eyelids grew heavy and he let them fall halfway shut, watching the trio who had saved him. The hippo was already asleep, snoring like a distant thunderstorm. The turtle was tucking himself into his shell, his glasses and red bowtie resting by his side. Sly appeared and crawled between the two, setting his cane within easy reach. He caught sight of Rioichi’s gaze, and the master ninja took the offered opportunity.

 

         “I cannot t’ank you enough for what you have done,” he whispered, just loud enough for the other to catch. The master thief smiled and settled between the turtle and the hippo, tipping his hat lower over his eyes.

 

         “That’s what family’s for.”

 

**~***~**

 

         Dawn and day came quickly and soon passed, the evening taking over. The sun sunk behind the mountains in a blaze of colors, a dark sky chasing after it. Stars, one by one, peeked out shyly from a deep blue sky to stare down at the world below. Anjuu Village was unchanged from its motionless chaos, the darkening streets silent. Tucked away in the safety of the cave, the Cooper Gang and its two temporary wards rested peacefully.

 

         Well, most of them were.

 

         Rioichi laid awake in the strange futon (the turtle had called it a bag of some sort) he and his daughter had been given to sleep in. He had only been up for a minute, but his mind was already sharp; it was how he had been trained.

 

         A quiet sigh escaped him, and he glanced at the room. The turtle, Bentley, was still tucked away in his shell, the sound of his breathing echoing faintly from the hollow confines. The hippo, on the other hand, continued to snore, splayed on his back. The middle sleeping bag was vacant, its zip cover thrown aside. Sly was already awake, somewhere in the safe house.

 

         Sly, his descendant.

 

         What a strange concept to grasp.

 

         Rioichi was pulled from his thoughts by movement in his arms. He looked down to see Akane stir against his chest, tiny body giving a drawn out squirm. He could feel the warmth of her breaths against his chest, the light tug of her fingers when they combed through his fur. He stroked her hair and she re-settled with a low, breathy croon, lapsing into childish snores.

 

         She was thinner than he remembered.

 

         Rioichi grimaced, taking in the dark circles under her eyes and the new, careworn air about her. He wondered how afraid she had been, sneaking through the shadows she had yet to learn, instinctively seeking shelter in a cave. She had been forced to grow up in the last few weeks, and he inwardly shuddered at the guilt that welled in him like blood from a wound. And her nightmares…

 

         There was no question she had them. His presence had kept them at bay for now, but it would not be a permanent fix. They would always be there to haunt her, like the pains of a healed wound.

 

         Rioichi held her closer, pressing his face into her hair. He was her father and he hadn’t protected her, a failure he found inexcusable. It made his gut twist at how readily she would offer him forgiveness if he but asked for it. He didn’t deserve something so precious and pure.

 

         He kissed her forehead and crawled out of the makeshift bed. She frowned at the loss of warmth, then calmed when he tucked the blankets back around her. He would have stayed longer, but there was work to be done.

 

         He re-entered the main cave and went to one of the chests tucked into the corner, lifting the top. The tools of his trade gleamed up at him. He pulled out his _ninjato,_ which he strapped over his shoulders, and a number of _shuriken_ , which went into hidden pouches in his sleeves. He looked at the leftover _neko-te_ and _kakute_ with a pang in his chest, touching them lightly. No. He shook his head and got up. He would find Sada and bring her to the caves, and they would take back the village togeth-.

 

         “Rioichi?” The master ninja turned to see Sly sitting by the strangely painted cart, a mug of tea cradled between his palms. He hadn’t even noticed him, so silent and still, his fur blending with the stone and light filtering in from outside. “What are you doing?”

 

         “My daughter is safe here, but she is not t’e only family t’e tiger took from me,” Rioichi explained. “I must find my wife.”

 

         “Wife?” Sly echoed, getting to his feet and setting his drink aside. He paused, pressing his lips together as worry crossed his face. “Akane talked about her mother getting capture by El Jefe, too, but so far, we haven’t found any leads.” He paused. "But now that I think about it…"

 

         “What?” Rioichi demanded, heart skipping a nervous beat. “Have you seen her?”

 

         His descendant watched him for a long moment; Rioichi watched him in turn. His eyes were amber, gleaming metallic and sharp around his pupils. The curve of his jaw and cheekbones reminded the master ninja of his young cousin, Henriette. His body was masculine in a subtle way, all lean muscle and slender limbs. Rioichi paused his scrutiny when the other man moved to the table, opening a sleek piece of metal. It clicked quietly under his fingers, the only sound in the room. He gestured for Rioichi to join him, stepping back to show the master ninja a picture.

 

         “Is this her?” Rioichi studied the screen, then nodded gravely. He tilted his head down so his hood shadowed his face, bronze eyes gleaming in its depth.

 

         “T’at is Sada, yes,” he whispered in a low voice, filled with a mixture of quiet rage and pain. “My _aisai_.” He shook himself, shoving his emotions to the side. He needed to be clearheaded and coldblooded, even if the sight of Sada forced to dress in such a way enraged him. “I recognize t’e fountain,” he said, gesturing to the picture. “It is near t’e Geisha House. I will go t’ere and bring her back.”

 

         “Whoa, hold on.” Sly caught him by the arm as he made to leave the cave. “You can’t go alone. It’s not smart, especially when El Jefe’s guards on high alert after your escape.”

 

         “I have faced much worse and I know now what to expect. I will be fine,” the master ninja told him, shrugging out of his grip and continuing on his path. He was determined, and didn't see the younger raccoon purse his lips with the same emotion.

 

         “And when Akane wakes up to find you gone?” Rioichi stopped. “What do you want me to tell her if you get caught again?”

 

         “…And what do you propose I do?” the master ninja growled, glaring over his shoulder. “Leave my wife with t’at…” He made a sharp motion with his hand, bronze eyes burning.

 

         “Let me come with you,” Sly offered, scribbling a note on a piece of paper. He stuck it on top of the metal slab. “It’ll be safer, and we can cover more ground as a team than you can alone.”

 

         Rioichi frowned at his descendant, eyes narrowing in speculation. Tail giving a low whisk, he lifted one hand and drew up his hood, turning away.

 

         “Do not slow me down, Sly- _san_.” Perhaps he was a bit more formal than necessary, but his impatience was starting to win out over politeness.

 

         “Wouldn’t dream of it,” his descendant promised, spinning his cane over the back of his hand in a fluid, instinctive motion. He smiled at Rioichi, inclining his head a fraction. “Lead the way.”

 

         The Geisha House was a fair distance from the hideout, but the master ninja turned it into a short sprint. It wasn't just to find his wife, but also to test the younger raccoon. Curiosity was itching at him without his consent, pricking just under his fur.

 

         What was Sly’s time like? What was his family like? Surely, there were more Coopers. What condition was the _Thievius Raccoonus_ in? Did the owl continue to hunt them? Had Sly been to Kaine Island and the Cooper Vault?

 

         They landed on the edge of a roof and Rioichi immediately slunk into the dark shadows, gesturing for his descendant to join him. The younger raccoon did so slowly, and he nodded in quiet approval of his skills. The other relaxed and the master ninja looked away. His questions would have to come later.

 

         Sly crouched next to his ancestor, eyes scanning the square. It was empty save for a few milling guards and the odd pig or two; no raccoons in sight. He let out a faint sigh, equal parts disappointment and understanding as he reached up for one of his ears.

 

         “Well, she isn’t out here,” Sly murmured, adjusting his earpiece. “Bentley? Bentley, you there? Time to rise and shine, pal.”

 

         _“I really hate your impromptu solo missions_ ,” the turtle grumbled, still groggy from sleep. _“I thought you grew out of those.”_

 

         “Heh, sorry,” the raccoon answered, completely unapologetic. “We needed to find Sada. Got any intel?”

 

         _“Rioichi’s wife, right?”_ There was a yawn. _“Lemme get back to you in a second. Just…”_ A long pause. Sly flicked an ear, listening to the clattering of a laptop’s keyboard. Rioichi crouched on the edge of the roof like some sort of gargoyle; not even his tail moved, his breathing all but invisible.

 

         _“I’m not finding much,”_ Bentley admitted a few moments later, recapturing his attention. _“But you saw her near the Geisha House, right? I recommend searching there first. We can’t free her now, but we can gather some information for later.”_

 

         “On it, Bentley. Thanks.” Sly looked up to tell Rioichi the plan, but the master ninja had apparently already heard; he was standing on the roof of the Geisha House across the square, slipping in through a small window. The master thief was quick to join him, hoping this didn’t count as slowing the other down.

 

         “Warn a guy next time,” he chuckled to his ancestor, flicking an ear at the low sound of voices, about twenty feet below and to the left of where they stood. One was female, but when he shot Rioichi a questioning look, the master ninja shook his head. Whoever it was, it wasn’t Sada.

 

         “We will have to go down to t’e main floors,” he admitted, setting off toward a trapdoor. Sly nodded absently, eyes roaming the stacks of dusty boxes, the backpack tucked against a pile parasols, the few, frayed _kimono_ hung up. Nothing unusual for Feudal Ja-

 

         A backpack. He went stiff, and caught Rioichi by the crook of his arm before he could take another step deeper into the space.

 

         “Wait,” he whispered, moving toward the pack. It had nearly escaped his attention because he was so used to seeing it in his own time, but it was so blaringly _not_ a part of this time that it begged another look.

 

         “What is it?” Rioichi murmured, following him when he walked over.

 

         “This is from my time,” Sly explained, hooking the backpack’s handle with his cane and lifting it from its resting place. His eyes roamed the attic again, more cautious this time. “This is someone’s base camp, and, judging from the mark on this,” he nodded to the red and white insignia stitched into the pack’s front, depicting a skunk with a gasmask, “I don’t think they’re too friendly.” He paused suddenly, tail give a slow swish. “Unless…” He set it down and turned his eyes upwards, toward the rafters. Rioichi eyed him in confusion and curiosity. “You wanna come down here and explain yourself?”

 

         “…Sly- _san_ , who are you…?” The master ninja followed his gaze, tail giving a worried flicker. “T’ere is not’ing t’ere.”

 

         “Wait, you can’t see them?” Sly blinked incredulously at his ancestor. “At all?” He looked back up, wondering if it had just been a trick of the moonlight. But no, a figure was perched in the wooden beams, as silent and still as Rioichi had been.

 

         They watched him for a moment before the set of their shoulders fell and they tipped sideways, landing neatly a few feet away in a deep crouch. Rioichi’s hand flew to the _ninjato_ strapped across his back at the sound, but Sly shook his head.

 

         “They’re not here to hurt us,” he murmured. “I’ve given them plenty of opportunities if that’s what they want. So, won’t you explain yourself? Please?” he added with a small smile, addressing the newcomer.

 

         “Explain myself?” The female voice broke in a brief, contemplative pause. Sly couldn't stop his breath from hitching. Their, her chin dipped slightly at the sound. “Yes… I think I better explain myself. Before I give you the wrong impression.”

 

         …No, it couldn’t be. The dissonance of this place and _that_ voice disrupted the picture his mind tried to paint for him, and he shook his head to dispel it entirely, bewildered, as they, _she,_ it was _she_ , reached for her face mask, never breaking eye contact. She were close enough that he could see her eyes now, and they were blue, winter blue, and-

 

         There was a sudden scream, cutting through the air. Unlike his descendant, Rioichi recognized this voice’s owner immediately, spinning to the window with a look of terror in his bronze eyes.

 

         _“Akane!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO SO SORRY for posting this so late in the day. The morning was hectic, the middle was full of food, and the afternoon was me being way too lazy for my own good.


	13. Explanations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not entirely sure how to feel about this one. There’s so much dialogue, which bugs me.
> 
> WARNINGS: violence (short fight scene)
> 
> Translations:  
> Tasukete – Help  
> Kunoichi – female ninja  
> Shinobi – male ninja  
> Gomenasai – I’m sorry  
> Oneesan – older sister (honorific)

         Now, Sly had known Rioichi Cooper personally for only a few hours, but he did not seem like a man inclined to grand displays of emotion. His entries in the _Thievius Raccoonus_ made him appear stoic, preferring to keep his feelings private and internal. It was clear he shared them openly with his family, if the way he was so affectionate with Akane and so hell-bent on finding Sada was anything to go by.

 

         So hearing him cry out in such a raw degree of terror was startling enough to make Sly freeze.

Rioichi, on the other hand, moved in a rapid blur, jumping from the window to the roof, and darting down to the square from there.

 

Sly forced himself to move. He leapt to the window after his ancestor, crouching on the sill. Akane was running from a group of leering guards, leaping and dodging around the crossbow bolts they aimed at her. She had surprising dexterity for one so young, darting up a stack of crates and then flipping down from them.

 

         But skill or no skill, Akane was little more than a baby! The situation made an old scar lance with hot pain. He gave a short growl.

 

         “Sorry,” he said quickly to the figure, their blue eyes (no, no, they couldn’t be blue, but they were) swimming with surprise and a growing seed of anger. They blinked as their owner was addressed, finding Sly's face. And damn if he didn’t have a chill rushing up and down his spine. “Gonna have to chat later!”

 

         Sly landed in the square, or rather, on an unsuspecting boar. He shoved the helmet over the guard's eyes and leaned backwards, throwing him off balance. When they were close enough to a wall, the raccoon jumped, sending the boar's head crashing into the wood. He searched the area for his ancestor, dodging a crane as he did so.

 

         Rioichi, meanwhile, was a blaze of red fur and glinting metal. He had drawn his _ninjato_ and was using it freely, slicing an arm, a leg, whatever got in his way. He was without his cane, but that was an issue for another time.

 

         A boar tried to charge the master ninja from behind, empty crossbow held aloft, snout curled in a sneer. Sly threw his shoulder into the guard’s stomach, sending them both to the ground. A hefty blow to the stomach sent the large guard to his knees, clutching his stomach. Another under the chin sent him to the ground, unconscious.

 

         “Sly!” Rioichi shouted to him, making Sly turn as he took out a macaque. “Where is Akane!?”

 

         _“Tasukete!”_ They whirled around to see Akane cornered against a wall, eyes wide as a guard bore down on her, chuckling as he raised his crossbow at his leisure. They were too far away. _“Tasukete!”_

“Akane!” The kit jerked at her father’s voice, green eyes wide. Rioichi shouted something in Japanese, too quick for Sly to follow. The girl’s lips pressed together and she lunged forward, diving for the boar’s legs as he pulled the trigger. She just made it between the short limbs and scampered away, head twisting every which way to avoid any more dangers.

 

         And they were everywhere.

 

         She squeaked, launching herself into the air as a macaque swung his bamboo firework cannon at her. Her toes touched the ground and she threw herself sideways, an arrow zipped through the air next to her ear.

 

         She landed on her belly, too dazed to move. Her hands and knees were scraped and her lungs had seized from her hard impact with the ground. She coughed a few times, one eye squeezed shut, and lifted her head in time to see a body crash in front of her. The boar was unconscious, splayed across the cobblestone by an unseen blow. She looked up further.

 

         A person crouched next to her, blue eyes kind and concerned. They were dressed in clothes vaguely reminiscent of her father’s outfit, but in hues of gray. The kit blinked and sucked in a hard breath.

 

         “Hello, sweet pea,” the _kunoichi_ (because there wasn’t anything else Akane could think her to be) greeted in a slow croon. It was a welcome relief from the too-fast battle around her. She was picked up and deposited neatly on her savior’s back, where she clung instinctively with her arms and legs. “You stay up here, all right?” She nodded and ducked her head, trusting the newcomer with her safety. She didn’t have much of a choice in the fray.

 

         Across the square, Rioichi slammed the hilt of his _ninjato_ into a crane’s gut and swept the bird’s skinny legs out from under him. His descendant was holding his own, running in circles around the guards, jumping from shoulders to heads like an acrobat. Sly was trained for stealth more than combat, but he was battling well enough to not need any assistance. Akane had vanished no, wait, there she was, hanging on to the back of Sly’s mysterious ally, who had joined the battle. She was focused more on keeping his kit safe than on actually take out guards, to his relief. The gray-clad woman felt his gaze, her blue eyes locking with his.

 

         _“Shinobi-sama!”_ Rioichi broke their gaze only to send a boar tumbling back into the pond. He turned back as she threw something in her hand. _“Kyacchi!”_ Catch? Catch what-?

 

         It was his cane.

 

         His _cane._

 

         The polished bamboo went spinning through the air. Rioichi leapt up to grab it, dexterous fingers curving around the handle. A wide smile crossed his features before he rearranged them back into a ninja’s calm neutrality.

 

         The battle wasn’t even fair now. The least he could do was show a little self-control and respect for his “opponents’” efforts.

 

         Sly dodged backwards and then lunged forward at the macaque who had tried to bludgeon him with his bamboo bazooka. His cane caught the primate across the chest, knocking him back into a crane. The two tumbled to the ground, unconscious. That took care of the guards cornering him; time to move on to the others.

 

         There were none left.

 

         Sly blinked and straightened, looking around in surprise.

 

         There were no guards left, and the conscious few had fled, scrambling across the cobblestones in fear of Rioichi, who was looking very pleased with himself. Sly rolled his neck, cane lax at his side. The master ninja was currently bending a few inches at the waist, an almost bow as a meager sign of respect to his opponents.

 

         “They’re going to come back for reinforcements,” Sly warned his ancestor, nodding in the direction the sore losers had fled in. “We can come back for Sada after they’ve cooled down.”

 

         “…You are right,” the master ninja sighed, tossing his cane from one hand to the other. The master thief’s ears snapped up.

 

         “Where did you-?”

 

         “I gave it back to him.” He twitched and turned. She (he knew exactly who it was, he knew, he knew, but he couldn’t say it, it would be all too real then) had walked over. Akane was riding piggyback style, but she avoided both her father's and his eyes.

 

         “…Funny meeting you here,” he murmured, a slow smile crossing his face.

 

         “Absolutely hilarious,” she agreed, blue eyes crinkling. She reached up with one hand to pull down her facemask, and he couldn’t stop his breath from catching in his chest.

 

         “Sly- _kun_ , we must leave t’is place,” Rioichi interrupted, touching his arm. There was a distant clang of armor and angry squawking, heralding the approach of a new group of guards. The master thief nodded in agreement, raising an eyebrow at their newest companion in a silent question.

 

         Calia smiled and shifted Akane’s weight more comfortably across her back.

 

         “Lead the way.”

 

**~***~**

 

         “Where _are_ they?” Bentley fretted, wearing lines into the moss. Sly had cut communications on him, and the last thing the turtle had heard was someone yelling. “This is why I don’t let Sly go solo anymore,” he muttered to himself. “Bad things happen, bad things _always_ happen. Plans are _important._ If you have a well thought out plan, you have a-”

 

         “Uh, Bentley?” Murray poked his head out of the cave to interrupt his rant. “Where’s Akane?” He stopped, hands freezing mid-gesture.

 

         “What.”

 

         “Akane,” the hippo repeated, eyes darting into the sleeping cave and back. “She’s gone. Like, her sleeping bag is cold gone. There were some pillows stuffed in it, so I didn’t notice until now….” The big man’s brow wrinkled in concern. “I don’t know how long she’s been gone.” There was a long pause, both men staring at each other. Finally, Bentley dragged his fingers down his face, stretching the skin with a groan.

 

         “Rioichi is going to kill me.”

 

         “Oh? Why’s that?” a new voice chimed, feminine and curious and _way too familiar_ for 1603. The turtle grasped each wheel of his chair and spun them in opposite directions, hard, flipping himself around to face the entrance of the safe house. The vines rustled as someone walked through them and entered the cave, tugging a hood off as they did so. A long braid of white-grey hair swung free.

 

         _“Calia?”_ Bentley stared, eyes huge behind his glasses.

 

         “Hey, Bentley,” she laughed, supporting Akane with one hand and waving with the other. The kit peeked over her shoulder before ducking back down. “Hey, Murray,” she added, seeing the big man come up behind the turtle. “It’s good to see you again.” Bentley gaped like a fish before finally snapping his jaw shut and throwing his hands in the air.

 

         “You know what? I’m just going to accept the fact I know nothing right now and wait for answers.”

 

         “Sounds like a good plan,” Sly commented, stepping into the main cave with Rioichi half a step behind him.

 

         “This,” Bentley blurted, pointing at Calia. “This, were you aware of _this?”_

 

         “Yeah, for the passed,” Sly checked his bare wrist theatrically, “fifteen minutes or so.” He looked up to where Akane was still clinging to the raccoon-ness’s shoulders. “You okay, kit?”

 

         _“Hai,_ _oniisan,”_ she murmured, squirming. Calia set her down on the floor. She fussed with the hem of her shirt for a moment before dragging herself to stand in front of her father. Her jade green eyes darted to his face, to the floor, to him, to her hands. The Cooper Gang and Calia became utterly absorbed with the study of the far wall and left the two to go inspect it.

 

“Akane.” She lifted her head at the prompting, but couldn’t meet his eyes. “Akane,” he said again, a little harsher now. A low whine left her, but she looked at him now, flinching at the burn in his bronze gaze.

 

         “Foolish girl.” He didn’t raise his voice, but she cringed and dropped her gaze at its piercing sharpness. Angry fear had taken the place of his neutrality. “What were you t’inking, following us? Why did you not stay where you were _safe?”_ She fidgeted, swallowing around a hard lump in her throat.

 

         “…I wanted to help save _Kaa-san_ ,” the kit squeaked, timid as she waited for his response. As rare as it was, her father’s anger was a thing to fear. To this day, her older brothers talked about it with hushed voices and wide eyes. He remained silent, waiting for more. “I heard you and Sly- _oniisan_ talking, a-and I followed you. I t’ought I could save her, _Tou-san._ I was going to get her out with t’is.” She held up a _kunai_ she had tucked into her sash, ears low. Rioichi took it from her with a low sigh, anger draining away.

 

         “Akane, you hardly know how to use t’is. And you do not even know where she is.” Her ears snapped back up defiantly.

 

         “Yes, I do! She is in t’e Geisha House!” Akane insisted. Rioichi eyes hardened at her misconduct. She frowned with the vehemence and bravery only a young child could muster. “I saw her, _Tou-san.”_ She darted to the table, climbing onto a stool and pointing to the layout of the building Bentley had put out. It drew Sly’s attention from across the room, and he elbowed Murray to get his. “In t’is room, up here.”

 

         “…” Rioichi wanted stay angry with her. Did she have _any_ idea how frightened he had been when he heard her scream? Did she know what kind of danger she had put herself in? He was her father and he needed to teach her, but he was also a husband who wanted to protect his family. And so, despite himself, he stepped forward. “…How can you be sure?”

 

         “Because I looked t’rough t’e windows and saw her!” the kit declared proudly, sitting down on the stool. The Cooper Gang and its newest companion were all watching now. Bentley made a thoughtful noise and pulled up his holographic keyboard, making a few notes. “While Sly- _oniisan_ and _Tou-san_ were in t’e front, I went to t’e back and I saw her. I would recognize _Kaa-san_ anywhere!”

 

         The frown on Rioichi’s face reshaped itself into something only half-angry, tinged with a grudging sort of hope.

 

         “What did you see of her t’en?”

 

         “I could see her butterfly.” Akane’s hands flew to her hair, twisting the braid into a bun. “On t’e comb you gave her, t’e one she was wearing when t’e tiger-man came.” She stopped abruptly, hands falling into her lap. “She looked sad, _Tou-san_ ,” the kit admitted. “I tried to wave at her, but I fell off the window and onto a guard.” She stopped again, hunching her shoulders and watching him from under her eyelashes. He almost groaned aloud. Surely, those jade colored eyes couldn’t get any bigger or more plaintive. “Please, do not be mad at me, _Tou-san.”_

 

         Silence greeted Akane’s announcement. Bentley was disbelieving, Sly was impressed, Murray was stunned, Calia was trying to stifle a rising smile, and Rioichi…

 

         “You are too clever for your own good.” He sighed, bronze eyes kindled with warm pride and tender affection and… something else. Half-fear. Akane beamed at him, tail high and ears up, and didn’t noticed as she slipped off the chair. The master ninja blinked, guarded once more. “But we must talk, you and I, about how you snuck out.” She deflated with a low “ _yes, Tou-san_. _”_ Her father nodded to the others, drawing them back into the conversation. “Apologize to t’em. You know what for.” She slunk over to Bentley and Murray, her tail curved so the tip tickled the back of her calves.

 

         “I am sorry for leaving and not telling you,” she murmured, giving a small bow. “ _Gomenasai.”_ The two nodded, and she turned to Sly. “I did not mean to put you in danger, _oniisan. Gomenasai.”_ He also nodded, and bit his tongue to resist the urge to tell her he was used to it. Akane bowed to him and then, surprisingly, turned to Calia, who blinked. The girl hugged the raccoon-ness’s knees, earning herself a gentle smile.

 

         “T’ank you for saving me, _oneesan,”_ Akane murmured into her legs. Calia patted the top of her head.

 

         “You’re welcome, sweet pea.” The kit stepped away and walked back to her father, taking his offered hand. Rioichi nodded to the Cooper Gang, appraised Calia one last time, and retreated into the secondary caves.

 

         “Yeah. Talking is a good idea.” Bentley turned to Calia. “I think we should talk, too,” he suggested. A hardness ran under his words; less of a suggestion, not yet an order. Calia turned sheepish, tail whisking low over the backs of her legs.

 

         “Heh. Yeah.” She clasped her hands behind her back, hunching her shoulders and offering a timid smile. Sly was vividly reminded of the girl who had tripped him under the apple tree. What sort of woman had she become? “I’ve got a lot of explaining to do. You might want to make yourselves comfortable though,” she added, taking a seat at the table. “This could take a while.”

 

         They did so, and were reminded of their dinner date not too long ago. Calia unraveled her French-braid and sat back to comb her fingers through her hair, watching them steadily.

 

         “I’m going to start by saying you should check your bungee cables before you use them.” She tossed her hair back over her shoulder, waiting for their reactions. It hit Sly first.

 

         “You _were_ the one at the museum.” She nodded.

 

         “And the restaurant earlier. You scared the hell out of me when I realized you could tell where I was,” she confessed.

 

         “You weren’t the only one a bit scared by it,” he admitted. “But why were you there?” He waved a hand. “And why are you here?”

 

         “…Personal adventures,” she offered. Bentley grimly shook his head.

 

         “We’re going to need more than that,” he explained. She let out a sigh.

 

         “Gauging my motives; I can’t blame you. But I can say I trust you. You’ve given me no reasons not to.” She paused and rubbed a hand over her mouth, blue eyes slipping off to the side. “Have you heard of the Ghost?” They nodded (who hadn’t heard of the up and coming saboteur?) and she smirked. “I don’t get called that just because no one seems to know who I am. I’ve developed a couple talents of my own.”

 

         “Wait a minute, wait a minute.” Bentley waved a hand. “Let me make sure I have this right. You’re _the_ Ghost? The Ghost that “haunts” the Palace of Shadows?”

 

         “The one and only,” she sang, tail giving a proud whisk.

 

         “What’s the Palace of Shadows?” Murray asked, head cocked.

 

         “It’s a crime organization,” Sly answered, recalling the lecture he had sat through in his last week as Constable Cooper. “Despite the name, it’s not too flashy. They’re good at what they do, which is everything from assassination and overthrowing governments to smuggling drugs and people. Very few people have ever heard of it, let alone know what it’s about. Interpol only became aware of its existence from an anonymous tip, delivered over fifteen years ago.” Calia nodded, sitting forward in her chair again.

 

         “Dismantling it,” she sighed, twisting her fingers together. “Has been my pet project for years.”

 

         “Wow.” Murray blinked at her. “Why?”

 

         “Because they ruined my _life_.” Pain, searing, fresh, naked _pain_ flashed across her eyes, her cool mask of strained neutrality cracking. There was old, heavy grief in the clench of her jaw, and festered rage in the pin of her ears and swish of her tail. It was a look Sly had worn when he swore to take down the Fiendish Five. “So I’ve vowed to sabotage them in any way I could and can, so I can stop what happened to me from ever having to happen to anyone else.”

 

         “Wow,” Murray repeated, trying not to wince at the split, stuffed with hot and raw emotion, cleaving her aura in two. ‘ _Be at peace. They can’t hurt you here,’_ he thought firmly, nudging it toward her.

 

         Before the energy could get to her, Sly reached across the table, laying his hand over hers. His touch and the energy and melted together, causing her to look up once more.

 

         “It’s ok,” he soothed, running his thumb over her knuckles. The set of her shoulders relaxed a fraction and she sighed again, rubbing her free hand over her face.

 

         “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “It’s… It’s not an easy thing to talk about for me.”

 

         “Then you don’t have to talk about it,” he told her, squeezing her fingers before drawing back. Relief replaced the anguish and she managed a tired noise of gratitude before continuing.

 

         “I found a lead that brought me to Paris. Some very rare resources were getting stolen from around the globe, along with some oddly specific artifacts,” she told them. “I wouldn’t have thought much of it if it wasn’t all getting funneled into one place. I was doing some…” She made a thoughtful face. “Let’s call it private investigating, trying to find out who could behind it all. I hit a dead end and had to defer to other methods to find out what I needed.”

 

         “Like…?” Sly prompted. She shrugged, leaning back in her chair and studying the ceiling.

 

         “The usual.”

 

         “I’m gonna guess… Interrogation. Mingling among residents of the underworld.” Her eyes flicked to his face and he grinned. “Breaking and entering.”

 

         “…All the above,” she admitted. A smile crossed her lips, her tail flicking back and forth next to her chair. “But you caught me at the museum and in the restaurant. I must be losing my touch.” Her blue eyes gleamed. “No one can see me when I go invisible, usually anyways.”

 

         “Can we see?” Murray begged. “Please?” She smiled indulgently and vanished from view.

 

         At least, she did for Bentley and Murray. To Sly, a pocket of ripples remained where she sat, fitted perfectly to her posture. She reappeared, head cocked and eyes on them, her silent question obvious.

 

         “I couldn’t see anything,” Bentley told her. Murray nodded in agreement. “Maybe it’s a Cooper thing. Your invisibility reminds me of something Sly can do.”

 

         “Interesting,” Calia hummed, shooting him a sidelong glance full of curiosity. He grinned in reply.

 

         “Remind me to show you sometime.”

 

         “First, the situation at hand,” Bentley interrupted. “I’m going to guess you’re involved with the CIA? MI6? Interpol?” Calia smiled and shook her head.

 

         “I’ve worked with them anonymously before, but I prefer to go solo. You don’t have to worry about me arresting you or anything like that.” She waved a hand. “There’s just _way_ too much paperwork for me to handle. It amazes me how anyone can actually accomplish anything within the boundaries of the law.”

 

         “I hear that,” Sly laughed. When the mirth left, he gave a dazed shake of his head. “Why didn’t you just tell us back in Paris?”

 

         “I didn’t think it would ever come up,” Calia sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m not exactly as public in my work as you guys are. The fewer people who know about what I do, the better.”

 

         “And how many people know about what you do?” Bentley questioned.

 

         “Including you three?” She tipped her head back to look at the ceiling. “Four.” At their shocked looks, her lips twisted in a mockery of a smile. “I don’t need anyone getting caught in my crosshairs, especially when I’m on a project. They tend to be unpredictable. I mean,” she waved a hand at their surroundings. “You know how this one turned out. I’m in Feudal Japan.”

 

         “And how did you actually get here?” Bentley wondered.

 

         “Can you say ‘ginormous blimp?’” Calia asked, raising an eyebrow. Sly couldn’t help but chuckle. “I snuck aboard when it was docked at a station out in the countryside and didn’t get the chance to sneak back off it. It was pretty impressive, if not a little ostentatious. Who ever owns it must have an ego to match.”

 

         “Typical,” the master thief hummed.

 

         “Come to think of it,” the raccoon-ness added, catching sight of the van and frowning. “It had a part that looked a lot like the timepiece you guys have.” She got up to inspect the getaway vehicle and the machinery attached to its roof. “Exactly like it, actually. Just ten times bigger.”

 

         “My original prototype was enormous,” Bentley explained. “At least, it was before I figured out how to maximize the output of power necessary to create a rift in the fabric of time large enough to travel through but small enough to control.”

 

         “So it wasn’t just a story…” she hummed. “Why _did_ you make a time machine?” The turtle hummed, twiddling his thumbs.

 

         “Idle curiosity.”

 

         “Why use it now?”

 

         “Writings from the _Thievius Raccoonus_ were disappearing,” Sly told her. “You’ve probably already guessed, but someone is going after my ancestors and unraveling our history.”

 

         “I kinda figured.” She looked over to the other cave. “It’s weird to think of that little girl as your ancestor. Especially when she calls you _oniisan._ ” Sly chuckled before letting his gaze fall back to the table.

 

         “How did you get Rioichi's cane?”

 

         “I saw El Jefe with it and liberated him of its burden.” She pressed her lips together. “It… bothered me to see him with it, I guess. I was lucky he set it down for a minute and looked away. I’m better at stealing information than stuff.”

 

         “So you know El Jefe,” Bentley commented. She dipped her head in a nod.

 

         “I gave him a hard time in Central America a few years back,” she explained, crossing her arms over her chest. “He’s a favorite in the Palace, but he’s not a member. I doubt any of the people involved are members, to be honest. Aside from the one orchestrating all this. He might just be gunning for a spot. The Palace doesn’t take anyone who can’t contribute significantly.” She bit her lip. “If your man is trying to prove himself, I’d say a ripped-off time machine would be able to do it. I don’t even want to consider the havoc they would be able to wreck with technology like that.”

 

         “So we have the same enemy,” Sly observed. She gave a short hum.

 

         “I suppose we do.” She didn’t sound particularly pleased. Troubled was the word the master thief found most appropriate. He cocked his head.

 

         “Why don’t you join us?”

 

         _“What?”_ Her eyes widened, but she quickly schooled her face into a disbelieving expression, shaking her head. “Like I said before, I don’t need people getting caught in my crosshairs.”

 

         “Calia, we’re already there.” Sly got to his feet, walking toward her. Halfway there, he turned to Bentley and Murray. “I vote Calia joins the gang until further notice.”

 

         “It would be _awesome!”_ Murray cheered. “You could move your base camp here and everything! I’m totally down for it.” The hippo turned his gaze to Bentley. The turtle was rubbing his chin, mentally scrolling through innumerable variables and endless calculations, adding the saboteur to them.

 

         “…I agree with Murray.” He dropped his hand. “From what I’ve seen of your talents and heard from Sly of your character, I think you would make a valuable asset to the Gang on this heist. The question is: do you accept?”

 

         “I…” Calia blinked. “Really?”

 

         “Really,” Sly affirmed. There was a war in her blue eyes, a battle in her thoughts. “We’re after the same people. You don’t need to worry about us being put in danger, because we went chasing after it ourselves. And you can’t deny it’s safer to work together. You look out for us, we look out for you, and we get this problem solved in record time.” She dropped her gaze. He gave her a few moments to think before taking one more step closer to her, offering a hand. “How ‘bout it? You up for slumming it with the thieves?”

 

         “…‘Slumming’ implies that I’m somehow stooping.” She rocked to the tips of her toes, lifting her eyes. They were clear and intent. “I accept your offer.” She took his hand, and he couldn’t have stopped himself from grinning if he wanted to.

 

         “Welcome to the Cooper Gang.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late in the day posting again -sweatdrop- sorry about that.  
> But on a sidenote WHO'S PUMPED FOR THE NEW GRAVITY FALLS AND THE NEW STEVEN UNIVERSE???


	14. Family Reunions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: mild implications of torture
> 
> Translations:  
> Aisai – beloved wife  
> Arigatou – thanks  
> Sekuhara – sexual harassment (I think I'm using it right but let me know if I'm not)

         “…And there’s room right over here.” Sly waved to the empty space against the wall, turning back to look at Calia. She stood at the entrance of the secondary cave, glancing around. Her shoulders were tense, and she kept flexing her fingers. Despite accepting the offer to join the Gang, she had yet to become comfortable with it.

 

         “Thanks.” She set her backpack down in the indicated space and knelt next to it, unzipping it. She had vanished to go get it, stating it wouldn’t take her any more than ten minutes; she had returned within six. Sly wondered, with a smirk, if she had been trying to impress them.

 

         “What’s in there?” he wondered, nodding to her stolen bag.

 

         “Mostly water, a mini first aid kit, what I think might be food.” She held up a silver-sealed rectangle. “I tried one, but it might just be shredded cardboard and glue. There’s some energy chews, too. Then we have some flares, a Swiss army knife, some matches.” She pulled out a square of metallic fabric. “And an emergency blanket.”

 

         “Speaking of blankets, there’s another sleeping pad and bag in that container.” He gestured over his shoulder to a plastic bin against the wall, across the entrance from the cave. “Bentley always makes sure each of us have a backup if we need it.”

 

         “Thank you,” she repeated, walking over. Sly spun his cane in a hand, tossed it to the other, let the crook tap against his leg. It wasn’t like people hadn’t been a part of the Gang before. Why did this feel so different?

 

         “Oh.” Sly turned to see Calia picking up his red backpack from where he had tossed it on his sleeping bag. “You kept this.” There was surprise in her blue eyes, but also delight. “I can’t believe you kept this.”

 

         “It’s a good backpack,” he defended, feeling his face go hot.

 

         “It was a good backpack,” she agreed, running her thumb over the straps. Sly was forced to replace them as they wore out, and the red fabric was off a few shades than from what it had originally been. “I’m glad it’s served you so well.”

 

         “It’s been with me since you gave it to me,” Sly reminisced. “I went to the orphanage in this, I pulled my first heist wearing it, I take into the field all the time… I use it to this day.” He shook his head “I can’t imagine getting rid of it. Not after having it for so long.”

 

         “Since we were kids…” She offered the small backpack to him. “We really grew up, didn’t we?” He took one strap with a small smile, and they both held it for a moment, sharing the weight.

 

         “Yeah,” Sly hummed. Her fingers uncurled. “We did.” He smiled, seeing the uncertainty in her eyes. “We became really cool people.” She practically glowed.

 

         “Sly, I-” She shook her head and hugged him, arms winding around his torso. She was warm and small against him, head fitting just under his chin. “Thanks. For….” She trailed off, cheek pressing against his collarbone. He hugged her back, chuckling into the top of her head.

 

         “You’re welcome.”

 

         “Hey, guys, I- oh.” Bentley blinked at them from the entranceway. “Uh, I guess I should have knocked first.”

 

         “No, no, you’re fine,” Calia insisted, stepping out of the embrace. “We were just talking.” She turned to him fully. “What do you need?”

 

         “You two, if you don’t mind.”

 

         “Not at all,” she replied. The turtle nodded and turned away, wheeling down the hall. The two raccoons followed him, Calia trailing a few feet behind.

 

         Everyone, Rioichi and Akane included, had converged on the main cave, surrounding the table. Sly stepped toward it while Calia retreated to one side, a silent presence half-swallowed by light and shadow. The master thief gestured her closer, and she gradually made her way to the open space at his left. He smiled at her, and she managed a tiny nod. Bentley began to speak, drawing all attention back to him.

 

         “Alright, Akane. You’re one-hundred percent _sure_ you mother is here?” Bentley asked, tapping the room the girl had pointed to earlier. She nodded so hard her braid flipped over her forehead. “Okay, good.”

 

         The turtle circled the location with red marker and turned to his computer, typing furiously, clicking on pictures, mumbling under his breath. He looked back to the map and scratched down a few hasty notes. He turned back to the computer, pressing keys more sedately now. Sly and Murray, used to the turtle’s silent flurries of thought, waited for him to vocalize. Akane squirmed, settling somewhat when Rioichi put his hand over her back and rubbed her neck in slow circles. The master ninja had his gaze fixed on the circle of red, no doubt as impatient as his daughter. Sly made a mental note to tail him if he tried to leave again.

 

         “Okay. Okay, I’ve got a plan to get Sada- _san_ out of the Geisha House,” Bentley started, clapping his hands together. Akane chirped in excitement, twisting to look up at her father, who only moved his hand to the top of her head. “It’s twofold and involves both you, Rioichi,” he nodded to the red raccoon, “and you, Calia.” She nodded. “We’re going to have to employ a little subterfuge to pull it off, but I have the utmost confidence in the two of you and your combined abilities. You up for it?”

 

         “Of course,” Rioichi affirmed, running his thumb over the handle of the _kunai_ he had taken from Akane, still tucked into his belt. Bentley nodded and looked to Calia.

         “I’ll do everything I can.” The turtle smirked.

 

         “How quickly can you learn a dance routine?”

 

         “How quickly do you need me to learn a dance routine?” she shot back. The turtle grinned. Over in the corner, Murray flipped the switch on a portable radio and music filled the cave.

 

**~***~**

 

         Sneaking in back through the attic? Easy.

 

         Making their way passed the guards without being seen? Child’s play.

 

         Sneaking backstage and raiding the costume rack? Yawn.

 

         Putting _on_ said costume?

 

         _‘To channel Matiz,’_ Calia thought to herself, wrestling with the second robe. _‘Impossibru!’_

 

         The makeup had gone over easily enough. Her fur was pale enough to not need powder, and she knew enough about eye shadow, blush, and lipstick to apply all three. She had twisted her hair up in a tight bun, using a pin decorated with tiny blue flowers. And the fact that she had gotten to take off her binder was actually a relief, especially after wearing it for so long.

 

         The _kimono_ itself was providing much more of a challenge. She wriggled her shoulders, but couldn’t get the fabric to go any higher than the tops of her arms. Sighing in defeat, she checked her reflection in a nearby mirror, thinking over what Bentley had said.

 

         “Rioichi will help you get in,” the turtle had explained. “But it will be up to you to distract the guards so he can get Sada- _san_ out.”

 

         “By dancing,” she had replied. He nodded. “…Something tells me that you’re a huge fan of misdirection.” Bentley’s only reply had been a wide smirk and a pleased humming noise. “I think you and I are going to get along splendidly.”

 

         _‘But I am_ not _getting along splendidly with this_ _robe!’_ She turned her attention to the _obi_ , holding an end in each hand. Staring at the thick sash of silk, she wondered if she could get away with just tying it into a knot.

 

         “Do you need some assistance?” Rioichi asked, half-stepping out of the shadows of a costume rack. He had been roaming the upper halls, scouting for hidden guards. She nodded, and he tied the _obi_ into place for her, tucking the loose fabric into the sash and straightening it with a light tug.

 

         “Well, how do I look?” she asked brightly, turning back around to face him. His lips quirked as he inspected her face with a critical eye. His thumb ran under her lip, smoothing away a stray smudge of lipstick, and he straightened her collar before stepping away, nodding.

 

         “Lovely.” He cocked his head to one side, watching her for a moment. “Nervous?” She nodded. “You should have more confidence in yourself, Calia _-san_.”

 

         “I do, usually.” She sighed, tucking a stray strand of hair back into place. “I’m just… off my game I guess. This isn’t my typical style. I’m used to working behind the scenes, where no one can see me.”

 

         “Is t’at why you are called t’e Ghost?” he wondered. At her look of surprise, he smiled. “Just because I was focused on my daughter does not mean I was not aware of what went on around me.”

 

         “You heard everything.” She seemed stuck, face frozen in a passive expression while her eyes danced with a whirlwind of emotion.

 

         “I heard everyt’ing.” He turned to peer through a crack in the curtains. “And I am grateful for your help.”

 

         Boars were beginning to gather around the stage, itching for entertainment. The dais was set up against a wall, displayed proudly in a luxurious room full of pillows and comfortable seats. There were balcony seats as well, but they were vacant, the guards choosing instead to get as close to the performing geishas as possible. Rioichi’s eyes flashed as two more walked in from the outside, flanking a stone-faced raccoon-ness.

 

         Sada.

 

         The master ninja couldn’t stop his heart from giving a hard beat, couldn’t stop the sudden longing in his heart. After weeks without her, his wife was just across the room, and he still couldn’t reach out to her. As he watched, one boar’s hand strayed and Sada’s lip twitched, her eyes closing in a prolonged blink. She “lost” her footing, bringing her shoe down hard on the boar’s ankle. He squealed, and his partner shoved Sada toward the stairs.

 

         Rioichi's fingers itched to go to his belt, wanting nothing more than to bury the _kunai_ between the pig’s eyes. But it was not his way, or his family’s way. He took a calming breath, watching his wife silently.

 

         How he missed her…

 

         “This is the best look I’ve gotten at her since getting here.” Calia stepped up to his side, hands tucked into the sleeves of her _kimono_. “She’s very beautiful. I can see where Akane gets her eyes from.” Rioichi nodded.

 

         “Akane is t’e only one of my children to have t’em. My other children all have my eye color.”

 

         “Are you so protective of Akane because she’s your only daughter?” Rioichi twitched, casting her a sidelong glance. The saboteur only shrugged. “It shows. I noticed.”

 

         “…Yes,” he murmured finally. “I nearly lost her, and Sada, when she was born,” he added. Akane had been a surprise, the both of them convinced Sada was passed her childbearing years. It had made the pregnancy harder than any of the previous, and Sada had gone into labor early. “And I nearly lost t’em again now.” He shook his head to himself, muttering what Calia correctly assumed to be self-admonishing words under his breath. She elbowed him lightly.

 

         “Blame El Jefe if you’re going to blame someone, not yourself,” she told him. “He and whoever he’s working for are the ones messing everything up.” The lights on the stage went out, and the boars beyond the curtain whistled and hollered. Rioichi turned up his hood; Calia picked up a pair of fans. “That’s our cue. I’ll see you when it’s over.” She stepped onto the stage with a theatric wink. The music started back up, more upbeat than usual. But the guards hardly noticed as she lifted her hands and started to dance.

 

         While the saboteur began her performance, the master ninja slipped out from the backstage, traveling the perimeter of the room. It was too soon to try the door; a few guards still lingered at the posts, most noticeably the ones guarding Sada’s room. Rioichi scaled a pillar near the stairs and crouched on a light, watching the two boars

 

         “Ko, you gotta see this!” a boar was saying, stretched on his toes to see the stage. “There’s this new dancer and just, _wow_.” He let out a whistle. “She’s something else. C’mon, I want a closer look!”

 

         “You’ve seen one dance, Shun, you’ve seen them all,” Ko yawned, rubbing his snout. “Besides, we’ve gotta guard this one,” he slammed a fist against the door. Rioichi’s ears pinned. “For the General.”

 

         “It’s not like she can get out,” Shun argued. He slung an arm around Ko’s shoulders. “C’mon! A few minutes won’t hurt.”

 

         Grumbling, Ko allowed himself to be led away down the stairs. Rioichi’s jaw tightened in distaste when the boar visibly perked as the stage came into view, elbowing his comrade, who only laughed.

 

         Transfixed as they were by the pale-furred geisha on stage, they didn’t notice the slender figure detach from the wall. The master ninja followed in their shadows without being noticed, snatching the key from Shun's belt. Snorting in distaste, he turned back up the stairs. He slipped the key into the lock and turned slowly, ears pricked for any creak or groan from the wood. When the lock clicked, he tucked the key into a pocket and crept inside, closing the door behind him.

 

         Sada had her back to him, standing by the window. It was open, the wind teasing the wisps of hair escaping from her bun. The folds of silk wrapped around her and dragged over the ground, too heavy and voluminous to flatter her narrow frame. She had been dressed as a doll would be dressed: for show.

 

         “If you’re here for some sort of service, I’m afraid you’re going to be gravely disappointed.” The ear she had slanted back cocked forward again. “But I’m feeling indulgent tonight: I’ll give you the chance to leave before I attempt to break bones.”

 

         “You must be feelings _extremely_ indulgent then,” Rioichi teased, pulling his hood down. Goodness, it felt good to speak his first language again. His wife pivoted on her heel, the silk flaring briefly around her. Her eyes were wide, chips of deep jade in her white mask.

 

         “Rioichi?” Sada lifted a hand as if to touch him, but drew no closer. He walked forward, until her palm pressed against his chest and slid up his shoulder to his jaw. He heard a breath escape her painted lips, felt it breeze across the exposed part of his throat.

 

         “Sada,” he answered, twisting his head to drop a kiss to her palm. “I’m sorry it took me so-”

 

         “You’re here. It doesn’t matter to me where you were,” she interrupted. She lifted her other hand and touched his face, sweeping a few strands of hair out of his eyes before reaching behind his head to untie his mask. The knot slipped free under her nimble fingers and the fabric slipped from his face. She couldn’t help but cup his cheek, sweeping her thumb under his eye, over the line where red-brown fur met tan. She had always liked seeing his face and the master ninja was happy to indulge her. He purred, touching her wrist and stroking the soft fur there.

 

         “You’re hurt,” he observed, looking at her neck and exposed shoulders. The fur there was dark with bruises, young and old.

 

         “It’s nothing serious,” she insisted. El Jefe had told she was to beautiful to scar permanently, but his fingers had coiled around her throat every time she thwarted his desires.

 

         “I will skin that tiger alive for what he has done,” the red raccoon swore, voice still even and calm as he kissed her palm. She quite liked the idea, unnecessary as it may be. She would skin him herself. “But first, we have to get out of here.” He dipped his head to allow his wife to retie his mask.

 

         “I would have left already,” she sighed, smoothing the fabric. “But this stops me.” She lifted her kimono to show him the band of silver metal encircling her ankle, an angry red light glaring up from it.

 

         “How?” He bent to inspect it, cradling her heel in his palm.

 

         “Lightning.” Her fur was singed, bruises showing more ugly blue-black underneath. The band itself was seamless; there was nothing he could find to pick it. And the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her further by trying to force it. “Or something of its ilk.”

 

         _“Let me get a good look at that anklet, Rioichi.”_ Bentley’s voice sounded from his ear. Sada blinked at him in shock, noting the piece of fitted plastic her husband was wearing. Rioichi reached for his belt, pulling out the binocucom come Sly had lent him, snapping a quick picture. _“Heh, I could open this in my sleep. Give me a minute. It shouldn’t take long.”_ The manacle gave a strange chirp in support of the turtle’s words. Rioichi smiled up at his wife, but her face held nothing but a forced sort of patience. Her toes flexed against his wrist, curling restlessly. She needed to be distracted.

 

         “Akane is safe. The tiger never got to her,” he explained, knowing she was aching to hear about their daughter. She froze.

 

         “Really?”

 

         “She’s been staying in our hideout.” He touched his forehead to her shin; one of her hands squeezed at his shoulder, rubbing against knotted muscle. “You were right, Sada. She’s only six. She isn’t ready for a life like ours.”

 

         “…She is young now, but she won’t always be.” He looked up, confused. Sada let out a tired breath. “Our lives are dangerous. What’s happening now is testament enough. I would rather…” She swallowed. “I would rather she know how to defend herself when we are there than continue to shelter her when I know we won’t always be with her.” He nodded.

 

         “We’ll wait for a while, and start slow in the beginning, for our sake as much as hers,” he promised. “Perhaps, in a few years, I will start training her from our book. Until then, she can learn from us.” Sada hummed.

 

         “I want to see her.”

 

         “You will, _aisai_.” He smiled. “Soon.”

 

         _“And there we go!”_ Bentley’s triumphant voice rang from his ear. The blinking light flashed green and released its hold with a click, clattering to the floor. Rioichi pressed a kiss to the curve of Sada’s foot before he stood. _“Calia still has a few minutes before her dance is over. Use it to get yourselves out.”_

 

         “We will return soon, Bentley- _san_ ,” he replied in English, accent bending over the Rs and Ls. He looked up again. “Sada, are you-?”

 

         There was a sudden rush of fabric, like someone whipping a blanket through the air. Sada pulled off the heavy outer layer of the kimono, letting it fall in a heap.

 

         “A knife, please,” she requested. He pulled the _kunai_ from his belt and gave it to her without question. She took it with a soft “ _arigatou_ ,” fingers lingering on his…

 

         …And sliced straight through her kimono with a savagery seen in butchers, lips pressed flat and eyes gleaming. Pink and green silk groaned as the hem of the long robe was torn away to knee-length. Two slits were ripped up the sides, making running and jumping much easier. The sleeves quickly followed the excess fabric, exposing slender but strong arms.

 

         “Much better.” Sada slid the _kunai_ into the sash around her waist and picked up some of the fabric, winding it around her hands. She was expecting a fight, or, rather, looking forward to one.

 

         “Indeed,” Rioichi chuckled, admiring her long legs.

 

         “ _Sekuhara_ ,” she teased back. “Focus. We must leave t’is place first.” She strode to the window and threw the shutters open wider, staring down into the backstreet below with hungry eyes. She braced one knee on the sill…

 

         And paused. The line of her back went stiff. Her tail stopped its excited whisking. There was a tightness in her shoulders, and Rioichi stepped forward to touch them, running his palm back and forth.

 

         “Sada?”

 

         “I know, I just….” She rubbed her newly freed ankle against the back of her opposite calf and shook her head, hair rustling. “We can leave.”

 

         “Yes, we can, _aisai.”_ He offered her his hand. “May I?” Jade eyes turned to him in mild shock, and he cleared his throat. “I… I missed holding your hand.” The tension in her eased, a fond look crossing her face.

 

         “And I missed holding yours.”

 

         Her fingertips grazed along his palm, finding the spaces between his fingers and fitting between his knuckles. They leapt to freedom, landing on the roof below with only the faintest tap of their feet against the wood and then the stone below. The _kunoichi’s_ grip tightened on her husband as she braced herself for startling pain and angry shrieking, stopping in reflex.

 

         There was nothing but the wind filtering through the bamboo, the low rushing of the waterfall, the distant thrum of music. The stone was cool underneath her feet and tingled against her pads, and the air was damp and warm, but she felt nothing else.

 

         Rioichi pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth, murmuring endearments. She turned to touch her nose to his, breathing in his scent: sea salt and fire and clean white rice. A purr rumbled in her chest against her will.

 

         “Let us leave this place,” she whispered. She tugged him away, relishing in the way the Geisha House’s garish lights were dimmer from the outside. They cast over the square, over the bridge, and reached no further. She ran for the bridge and sprinted its length, arriving in the other plaza.

 

         The restaurant stood hollow and empty, guarded by boars, as it had since they had been imprisoned. A desperate want rose in her breast, but it was one she would have to wait to satisfy as Rioichi pulled her to a second bridge toward their old haunt.

 

         “We are not alone against the tiger. T’ere are allies waiting for us, like the one you heard speak to me,” the master ninja explained while they ran. They rose over the bridge, the vine-covered cave coming into view. “Allies, and-”

 

         _“Mama!”_ A tiny figure burst from the leaves in a blur of red and green, rushing to meet them. They almost lost their footing on the moss-slicked road, but caught it and tumbled forward. _“Mama!”_

 

         A cry of pure elation escaped Sada’s lips, and she let go of her husband to rush to her daughter. Akane crashed into her chest and squirmed closer, chattering and trilling with joy. The _kunoichi_ couldn’t decide if her kit had grown while she was away or gotten smaller, because there was something different and darker about her eyes but she was so very tiny and precious in her arms. She sunk to her knees, pressing a kiss to her daughter’s forehead, her nose, her ears, everywhere else she could reach.

 

         “Mama, that tickles!” the kit complained, but threw her arms around her mother’s neck and held on like she would never let go. “I missed you, Mama, I missed you _so_ much.”

 

         “And I, you,” her mother sighed, tucking her daughter’s head under her chin. She reached out for her husband, and Rioichi stepped forward and knelt next to her, wrapping his arms around the both of them. Sada closed her eyes, at peace. “And I, you.”

 

         “Um.” Sada’s head jerked up at the newest voice, male and somewhere between young and grown. Another raccoon stood at the mouth of the cave, the vines draped across his forearm. His grey fur reminded her of shadows, the muscled but lean planes of his body of ninjas. His tail, striped with black, swished anxiously behind him, his amber eyes curious and reserved at the same time.

 

         “Sly _-kun.”_ Rioichi got to his feet and so did she, keeping Akane close. _Kun?_ Such familiarity…Who was this man?

 

         “Not to break up the reunion, but maybe we should take it inside?” the newcomer offered, stepping back and gesturing to the cave with a… She blinked.

 

         He was holding a cane.

 

         _“Kaa-san_ , t’is is Sly- _oniisan,”_ Akane explained, switching to English and waving a hand.

 

         _“Oniisan?”_ she repeated. Rioichi’s hand found her hip, rubbing soothing circles around the bone.

 

         “Mmhmm. He is like _Tou-san!_ But he is from far away.”

 

         “Very far away,” the grey raccoon, Sly, agreed with a faint chuckle.

 

         “…I t’ink t’ere is a story I need to here,” she commented, stroking Akane’s back. Sly smiled and nodded. She was close enough to see the shape of his eyes and the quirk of his lips, an eerie familiarity in both.

 

         “Come in.” He lifted the vines higher and gestured once more. Sada eyes fell to his cane for a second time. “I’ll introduce you to the others.”

 

         She walked passed him, tamping down on the uncertainty in her chest. It wasn’t… bad, per se, but it was still… not right. Like a warm breeze blowing her fur in the wrong direction. Curiosity was an itch but, judging from the way Sly reached out to her husband to murmur something in his ear, it wouldn’t be scratched to her satisfaction.

 

         Well, it didn’t matter for now. Sada shifted Akane’s weight and nuzzled her kit, purring low and deep in her chest. The girl giggled, pressing her ear up against her throat to listen.

 

         She would find out soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looking at the publication date and I can't believe this is already a month old like holy crap. Hope everyone who's reading it is enjoying it. Feel free to drop me a comment to say hi!


	15. Team Player

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: no warnings
> 
> Translations:  
> hiretsukan – bastard  
> aijou – beloved daughter  
> aisai – beloved wife  
> oneesan – older sister  
> oniisan – older brother  
> Tou-san – father  
> Kaa-San – mother

         “…And t’en _Tou-san_ and Calia- _oneesan_ went to bring you back and now you _are_ back!” Akane finished with a flourish, throwing her hands up. The girl had come to life, her green eyes full of joy, every motion made in happiness. Sly chuckled from his place by the doorway, absently moving the leafy tendrils out of the entranceway to peek outside. Murray, leaning against the wall next to him, elbowed him.

 

         “She said she was on her way back,” he reassured. “I’m sure she’s fine.”

 

         “I know,” Sly defended lightly. “I just want to make sure.”

 

         “Make sure of what?” Both the raccoon and the hippo jumped at the new voice. Sada smiled behind a hand. “Forgive me. I did not mean to startle you.”

 

         “T’ey are waiting for Calia- _oneesan_ , _Kaa-san_ ,” Akane explained from where she leaned against her mother’s leg, unwilling to be more than a few feet from her at a time. “She was dancing.”

 

         “ _Oneesan?”_ Sada was distinctly amused. “It seems our family has grown while I was away.” Akane nodded and nuzzled against her.

 

         “Um, Sada _,_ uh, _san,_ right?” Murray shot a glance at Sly who nodded in reassurance. The woman gave him a warm smile.

 

         “You may call me Sada.”

 

         “Ok,” the hippo grinned. “Sada, do you want something else to change into?” He gestured to the shredded kimono and the silk unraveling from her hands. “Calia might have something for you, or you could use one of Sly’s shirts. And we’ve got pre-wrap for your hands.”

 

         “Oh, t’ank you, but t’at will not be necessary. I will be changing soon enough.” Sada looked to her kit, who peeked up at her. “How would you like to change out of t’ose clothes, _aijou?”_ Akane snuggled her face into her mother with a wide grin.

 

         “Yes, please.” Sada smiled and tugged her braid lightly.

 

         “T’en, if you excuse me,” she nodded to Murray and Sly. She moved over to one of the chests lining the walls, near a dressing screen set up in the corner. With Akane by her side, peering over her shoulder, she rifled through it. Sly saw evergreen fabric and what looked like a small _kimono_ before the _kunoichi_ disappeared behind the screen with Akane.

 

         “Hey, Sly.” Murray batted his shoulder to get his attention, nodding to the safe house’s entrance. “Calia’s back.”

 

         Sly turned and, sure enough, Calia was walking down the bridge. She cut a strikingly pretty figure in the _kimono_ , the fabric wrapped around her small frame. The majority of the outfit was a light pink, flowers trailing from one shoulder to the hems of the sleeves and down across her waist to swirl around the end of the robe. A few of them were blue, scattered among delicate lilac and rich fuchsia, and they picked up on the color of her eyes. Her shoulders were on display, as were her collarbones. He found himself following them to the hollow of her throat, up her neck, and to her modestly decorated face.

 

         Something tickled the back of his mind, like a thoughtful hum. He found himself swallowing in a compulsive motion and gave his head a little shake. He checked for guards with a cursory glance and then strode out of the hideout. Murray shot him a funny look, but he ignored it, calling out in a soft voice instead.

 

         “Calia.”

 

         She stopped at the end of the bridge, looking up. Her blue eyes were thoughtful and a little bit distant and, as Sly approached, they darkened. She half-turned away from him, painted lips pressing together as she drifted to one side.

 

         Blinking at the strange reaction, Sly sidled up to her, leaning his weight on the railing of the bridge and setting his cane next to him.

 

         “So,” he drawled, injecting a note of playfulness into his voice. “How’d it go?” The thoughtful hum turned worried. Had something happened? Had there been some sort of trouble? No, Rioichi had stuck around long enough to take care of any issues, and the guards had been too blissed out and dazed to react afterwards. So what-?

 

         “Don’t be too angry with me.” He blinked again at Calia’s voice. She, too, was leaning on the bridge, her hands splayed, shoulders hunched a little. A lock of hair fell free from her bun, and his eyes tracked the motion without meaning to.

 

         “Okay.” He flipped around, the wood pressing into the small of his back. He crossed his arms over his chest and his legs at the ankle. “But it really depends on what happened.”

 

         “One of El Jefe’s men might have mentioned that he was going to visit the Geisha House in the next few days and I may have said I was going to be available for a one on one meeting.” She watched him from the corner of her eyes.

 

         “Okay.” He stretched the word and resisted the urge to bite it off. The hum turned into a buzz. “Why?”

 

         “Because I can steal information off him, figuratively and literally. He carries a copy of his plans with him twenty-four seven.” He dipped his chin and didn’t reply. He heard her nails tap against the bridge in an agitated rhythm.

 

         “Okay.” Wow, three _okays_ in a row. He blew out a breath. “I would say you should have called us first, but I know how important quick thinking is. Plus, I’ve gone on too many solo missions to count, so I won’t.”

 

         “You aren’t… angry,” she observed, facing him now. Her blue eyes flicked from his crossed legs to his folded arms to the planes of his face. “But you’re upset with me.” She looked to the angle of his ears and the set of his tail. “Afraid.”

 

         “El Jefe is a registered sex offender.” The buzz became a whine, shrill and agitated.

 

         “I’ve worked with rapists before.” She smiled, close-lipped, eyes half-lidded. It was alluring and edged with danger. The master thief wondered how many people she had reeled in with it. “You know my reputation. I can handle myself.”

 

         “I do, and I have no doubt that you can,” Sly admitted. “You were a one-man act… and now you’re a part of a team.” He raised an eyebrow. She straightened, discarding her smile. He continued. “Your decisions aren’t just your own anymore. I know this is your first mission with us and we all have to get used to each other, but still.” He tipped his head to one side a little. “Again, I know the benefits of snap decisions. But I guess…” He twisted a hand at the wrist, gesturing to nothing. “A heads up would have been nice.”

 

         “…Noted for future reference.” She took her weight off the bridge. “I’m sorry. I’ll talk with Bentley.”

 

         “Don’t be sorry.” He got up to and they walked back to the hideout. “I would have done the same thing if I had been on that stage.”

 

         “In a _kimono?”_ She snorted, smirking as she wove through the vines and into the cave. “I would pay good money to see that.”

 

         “Or you could ask nicely,” he teased back, following. The whine faded, still unhappy, but quiet enough for him to ignore now.

 

         “Ask what nicely?” Murray wondered. Calia laughed and Sly waved the question away with a mumble. The hippo hadn’t moved from his spot by the entrance and was the first to greet them. His eyes fell to Calia and he smiled. “Nice outfit. What took you guys so long?”

 

         “A few things.” The saboteur took the pin out of her bun, letting it fall apart around her shoulders. “One: they demanded an encore. Two: there’s something I need to discuss with Bentley. And three: these shoes,” she lifted a sandaled foot, “are more difficult to walk in than you might think.” She shook her hair out and ran her fingers through the fluffed strands. “What’d I miss?”

 

         “A long awaited reunion,” Rioichi purred from the table, getting up. Next to him, Sada rose, looking very different than from when she had first walked in.

 

         Gone were the tattered shreds of a kimono. In their place was a deep green tunic, over a black undershirt; it was reminiscent of Rioichi’s outfit. Instead of red, the outfit was accented with a jewel purple, edging her hand-guards and coloring the belt around her waist. The tunic fit tighter to her body, and the shoulders had added padding, giver her extra broadness. Her hair was pulled low at the back of her neck, and there was a black _kabuki_ mask attached to her belt.

 

         “Calia- _chan_ , t’is is my wife, Sada,” Rioichi introduced. “Sada, t’is is Calia.”

 

         “Pleasure to meet you,” the saboteur greeted, bending a little at the waist.

 

         “I owe you my t’anks,” Sada replied, bowing back. Calia shook her head.

 

         “You owe me nothing.”

 

         “Calia- _oneesan!”_ Akane, who had been sitting near Bentley, took the opportunity to bounce over. She had discarded her loose, pajama robes for a little _kimono_ , dark blue with a green sash. Her hair had been washed and combed, twisted up into two little buns just behind and to the outside of her ears. She looked absolutely adorable, even more so when she barreled into Calia with a squeaky noise.

 

         “Hi, sweet pea,” Calia laughed. Akane peeked up at her.

 

         “T’ank you for saving my _Kaa-san_ , _oneesan.”_ The white raccoon gave her a gentle smile.

 

         “You’re welcome.” She let out a breath. “Now, if you excuse me, I have to talk to Bentley about something.” Akane nodded and stepped over to her parents; Calia made her way to the table, sitting down next to Bentley. They started talking in low voices, and Sly meandered over to join them, leaving the raccoon family on their own as Murray went to the table as well.

 

         Akane, humming happily, wandered over to a wall to pick up some of her still in-progress origami. Sada watched her with a fond smile, leaning against her husband. He wrapped his arms around her with a purr.

 

         “How is she?” she asked in Japanese, nodding to their kit. He let out a sigh.

 

         “Better.” He closed his eyes, remembering how she had cried into his chest the night he had been freed. “But… this has changed her.” Sada gave a grave nod.

 

         “I expect this has changed all of us.” He tightened his grip on her waist and didn’t reply. She leaned her head back against his shoulder. “Bringing her home should help.

 

         “It would, but it’s still under the control of that _hiretsukan_ and his soldiers,” Rioichi told her. His wife smiled, and it was like ice and all the dangers of winter.

 

         “T’en we should take it back.” Rioichi didn’t answer, but his grin was ferocious and burning, like a fire licking at the edges of its barrier. She nipped lightly at the junction of his neck and shoulder in a show of approval.

 

         At the table, there was a distinct lack of approval.

 

         “You _what?”_ Calia hid a wince at the stare Bentley was giving her; no doubt a patented “older brother” look. Her mind flicked briefly to Matiz, but she shook thoughts of the wolf out of her head.

 

         “I arranged to meet El Jefe in person,” she repeated, folding her hands in her lap. “Like I explained to Sly earlier, he carries a copy of his blueprints on his person. He’s too arrogant to assume a woman would steal them from him, so his guard would be down. And,” she added. “I’m good at making people talk.”

 

         “Isn’t he dangerous?” Murray worried, twiddling his thumbs. “There are safer ways to get the plans.”

 

         “True,” the saboteur admitted. “But not quicker.” Bentley groaned and rubbed his face, pushing his glasses up his forehead.

 

         “I don’t like this,” he grumbled.

 

         “Why not?” Something in Calia’s eyes flashed, and she bared her teeth in a smirk. “Don’t think me capable?”

 

         “No; you’re extremely capable.” The turtle typed something into his computer, the light glinting over his glasses. “And it’s actually a solid plan that works well with our operation.” He looked up. “But that doesn’t mean we aren’t going to worry.”

 

         “…You’re right. I’m sorry,” Calia sighed. She ran a hand through her hair. “I gotta get used to this team thing.”

 

         “It takes time,” Sly chuckled. He flicked his tail and looked up as Rioichi and Sada approached, hand in hand. “Hey,” he greeted. “What’s up?” Sada eyes flicked to the ceiling before slipping to her husband, confused. He just squeezed her hand and fixed his gaze on Bentley.

 

         “We need to take back our home and business,” he explained. “As soon as possible.” The genius eyed the two.

 

         “Define, ‘as soon as possible.’”

 

         “Tonight,” Sada explained. “Before t’e sun rises.”

 

         Sunrise was less than three hours away. Sly raised an eyebrow, smirking over at the turtle; it seemed there was a trend tonight of split-second decisions.

 

         “…Give me two minutes to run the blueprints and hack the cameras,” Bentley sighed. The two ninja smiled at him. He sighed, an only vaguely exasperated sound, and hid a smile.

 

         Maybe it was a raccoon thing….

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry on two accounts: this chapter is short and it's late :/
> 
> But on the plus, I have almost 80 hits and three bookmarks!!! -cries tears of joy-


	16. Welcome Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: suggestions of/character having a panic attack
> 
> Translations:  
> Onryou – ghosts who died with a lingering grudge; I thought it would be appropriate  
> Domo arigatou gozaimasu – “thank you very much”; used in formal circumstances, but also to express sincerity with someone familiar  
> Tsuri Araiguma – literally “The Swimming Raccoon”  
> niku-dango – pork meatballs  
> Tanabata – the Star Festival, takes place on the seventh day of the seventh month of the year; a romantic festival for lovers

         “Rioichi, could you tie t’is for me?” Sada asked, gesturing to the band of fabric wrapped around her torso. He nodded, stepping close and pulling the band tight. His wife blew out a breath, a hand pressed to her chest.

 

         “Too tight?” Rioichi made to loosen it, but she shook her head.

 

         “It needs to be tight if it is going to work.” He frowned and reluctantly tied a knot. Sada turned to him, now appearing flat-chested, and kissed him in way of thanks. He made a low sound, ears folding halfway.

 

         “Do not wear it for too long,” he requested. In the past, he had seen how it had hurt her to breathe afterwards.

 

         “If all goes well, I will not have to,” she replied with a grin, stepping out from behind the screen. He shook his head and followed her, tossing his cane restlessly between his palms.

 

         “Wear what too long, _Kaa-san?”_ Akane wondered, cocking his her head. She was sitting with Bentley at the table, kicking her feet. The turtle had promised her she could watch her parents’ progress through their home to monitor their safety.

 

         “A chest band, _aijou,”_ Sada explained.

 

         “Why?” the kit asked, cocking her head at her mother’s flat chest. “Does it hurt?”

 

         “If I leave it bound for too long, yes. But it is for my own safety,” the kunoichi admitted, adjusting the band under her clothes. Already, it was starting to itch, an uncomfortable pressure accompanying each inhale.

 

         “Safety?” Akane looked even more confused. “Can you not be safe wit’out it, _Kaa-san?”_

 

         “She can, _aijou,_ but not as safe,” Rioichi told her. “Calia- _chan_ wears one too.”

 

         “I do. It’s like wearing a shield,” Calia offered. She was standing with Sly, helping him rearrange his armor so it fit better (Bentley had yet to resize it). “People think you’re one person, but you're actually someone and something else.” She smiled. “It can be fun.”

 

         “Indeed,” Sada agreed. “It certainly provided a very interesting time for your poor _otousan_.” She looked to the red raccoon, who was fighting a smirk. “How long did you believe I was a man, Rioi- _chan?”_ The pet name came to her lips easily and fell from them sweetly.

 

         “For as long as you enjoyed teasing me with it,” he returned, rolling his eyes. She grinned and stepped to his side, circling close to his body and curling her tail around his front. When she was behind him, she wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her chin on his shoulder. Her jade green eyes sought his bronze, and they were alight with mischief. “You still do.”

 

         “You speak t’e truth,” she hummed, kissing his cheek. Akane shook her head and stuck her tongue out in distaste, squeezing one eye shut.

 

         “Will I wear one too?” she asked, making her parents pull away. Sada flicked her tail, eyes slipping to Rioichi. He tipped his head to one side.

 

         “Perhaps.” The ninja master noticed Bentley gesturing and stepped forward to kiss his daughter’s hair. “We will discuss it later, _aijou_. Your _okaasan_ and I will be back soon.”

 

         “We promise,” Sada added, kissing Akane’s forehead. The kit nodded, blinking to hide the shimmer to her eyes.

 

         “Ready?” Sly asked, gesturing to the entryway. The two ninja nodded. Rioichi drew up his hood and Sada slipped a black _kabuki_ mask over the upper half of her face.

 

         Sly stepped out of the hideout first, heading over the bridge toward the restaurant. The armor wasn’t as heavy or enormous now, thanks to the removal of a few minor pieces, but it still chafed against his body. The guards saluted him as he passed in the streets, while Sada and Rioichi took to the rooftops.

 

         The restaurant came into view, complete with its pair of boars. Sly went to dismiss them when his fur prickled, a chill rolling from the top of his head to the tip of his tail. He paused and ducked into a doorway, shifting his helmet so he could see better.

 

         El Jefe marched up, yellowed eyes narrowed, his cigar burning dark red. There was frustration in every line in his body, and Sly was willing to bet his cane it was from their actions in the passed few days.

 

         The mercenary general glared at the restaurant as he approached, teeth half-bared in disgust. He tapped the ashes from his cigar, looking down his nose at the two trembling boars standing watch over the building.

 

         “No one gets in or out, understand?!” El Jefe slipped his cigar back into his mouth, turning away. “I don’t want any more problems.”

 

         The guards watched him leave, faces twisted in fear. Sly took it as his cue to approach and immediately dismissed the two boars, taking their place. A few minutes passed, and he deemed it safe enough to call in Sada and Rioichi.

 

         Three raps on a shield was the agreed upon signal. He heard a faint rustle in the distant and dropped to a knee, lifting the shield over his head. Someone jumped on it and he pushed up, giving them an extra boost, before dropping again. Another rustle, another weight on the shield. He stood after, looking up to the window. The pair waved down to him and he grinned back up, taking his place by the door and adopting a stoic face.

 

         It would do no good for anyone to see the smirk he was trying to hide.

 

         Inside the restaurant, Rioichi and Sada weren’t bothering to hide their smiles. After jumping down to the floor from the window, they had immediately prepared themselves. Rioichi had a cane in each hand, having retrieved the second from under the carpet, and Sada’s _neko-te_ winked in the dim lighting. There were only a handful of guards milling in the main room, their beady eyes dull with boredom. The two raccoons tensed eagerly, the cats hunting for rats.

 

         Before they could move, their earpieces beeped to life. Sada shook her head unhappily, but stopped to listen all the same.

 

         _“Moshi-moshi!”_ Akane sang. Rioichi chuckled.

 

         “ _Moshi-moshi_ , _aijou_ ,” he hummed. “What do you have to tell us?” There was a shuffling sound and then Bentley spoke.

 

         _“Well, I’m guessing I don’t need to tell you about your own place,”_ the turtle started. Sada nodded, tail snapping impatiently at the air.

 

         Their restaurant was divided into three major rooms: the front room, the main dining room, and the more private seating and bar in the back. Beyond those three areas was the kitchen, with the furnace just beyond it.

 

         _“Quite ingenious of you to use your sushi knives as door keys, by the way,”_ Bentley added.

 

         “Bentley-san, we _are_ ninja masters,” Sada interrupted.

 

         _“Uh… right. My bad,”_ the genius apologized, sounding a little uncertain. _“Anyway, my scan reveals your sushi knives are still here. The bad news is that the guards definitely have them.”_

 

         “Not unexpected,” Sada muttered, eyeing the distant guards with sharper distaste. Rioichi skimmed his fingers over the inside of her palm, thumb curving over her lifeline.

 

         _“And there are some security systems you two definitely have never seen before,”_ Bentley told them. Rioichi heaved a silent sigh.

 

         _“Will you be able to get t’rough, Tou-san?”_ Akane chimed worriedly. The master ninja’s ears flicked back. The turtle’s concern was touching, but unnecessary, and it was making his daughter worry.

 

         “Though the bamboo forest is thick…” He blinked at Sada and she only bared her teeth in a feral smile, prowling to a wall. She scaled the wooden beams to one of the rafters, where she began stalking her prey.

 

         “…Water flows through it without effort,” Rioichi finished, ascending a support beam and Dragon Leaping to the decorative roof over the serving bar. His bronze eyes found a nearby guard and his fingers tingled with heat- one knife found. He nodded to Sada and she slipped to the floor, disappearing in the guard’s massive shadow. He bit back a chuckle when he saw her slip a small coin purse into her belt.

 

         _“Umm, yeah.”_ Bentley didn’t sound impressed with their little proverb, but there was a giggle from Akane. _“Just make sure you don’t alert any guards. Now get those knives and take your restaurant back!”_

 

         Rioichi nodded and caught the knife Sada threw his way, tucking it into his belt. A few Dragon Leaps around the rafters, and they were unlocking the first door.

 

         “Did t’ey try to chop wood with t’is?” he growled as the door closed behind them, running his thumb over the fillet knife’s blunt edge. Sada kissed the corner of his mouth.

 

         “T’ey will pay for it,” she soothed, knowing how particular he was about his tools. Grumbling, he handed the fillet knife to her and stalked forward to steal the second knife, his _sashimi_ knife. He bypassed the first two guards, slinking over the rafters, bronze eyes sharp. A growing prickle in his palm… there, the guard sleeping at the window. Irritation prickled through his fur, his tail bushier than normal as he relieved the guard of not only his cutting tool, but a coin purse and a pair of ivory chopsticks. Sada tittered at his antics, but ran a hand over the small of his back as they moved on.

 

         The third room, the main dining room, was the largest and most difficult to maneuver in. The guards were packed more thickly, as the kitchen and furnace room were just a door away. One, obviously the leader, had possession of Rioichi’s cleaver. Yet he was walking between two of his comrades, giving the master ninja no room to take back his possession.

 

         The guard needed to turn, just for half a second. Rioichi eyed his belt from a small platform in the corner, ears pricked. Maybe a second longer, given how he had the knife tied to his armor with a strip of leather. He glanced at Sada, who was balanced between the wall and a support beam. Upside down, she had her legs stretched out in a split, toes pointed. Her jade eyes gleamed from the black mask, her head tilted to one side in question. One hand drifted up, poised over a metal decoration on the wall. Her _neko-te_ glittered and he dipped his head in a nod, circling the room until he had a better vantage point. When he was ready, Sada moved.

 

         Genkei was not a superstitious boar. He believed if he couldn’t see something with his own eyes and hit it with his own fists, it couldn’t possibly exist. Which was why, even after hearing rumors of a shadowy raccoon with eyes like fire, baring no resemblance to the local sushi chef or his _living_ family, he wasn’t concerned and continued to guard the closed restaurant with his head aloft. Marching between Oda (who was stupid but followed orders to the letter) and Hachi (who needed to stop mumbling _prayers_ under his breath), he was confident that nothing would go wrong and he would be able to report another quiet night to the General.

 

         At least, he would have been able to if there hadn’t been the low rattle of metal on metal and the drag of claws over wood.

 

         Hachi let out a shriek, fumbling with his crossbow. Oda spun around so fast he nearly fell over. Genkei just closed his eyes in a long blink and prayed for patience.

 

         “You think it’s Cooper?” Oda snuffled, raising his lantern and squinting at the wall, as if it would hold the answers.

 

         “No. Ghosts,” Hachi moaned, legs quaking. His armor rattled with the force of his tremors. “It must be ghosts. We’ll be cursed for sure.”

 

         “I thought I told you to quit your whining!” Genkei growled, shoving him. “There’s nothing here! There’s no way Cooper could have gotten in, and there are _no. GHOSTS!”_

 

         A few feet above them, out of sight, Rioichi shook his head and rolled his eyes. Shoulders shaking in silent laughter, Sada unhooked a silk picture and let it flutter to the ground. The rippling sound made all the guards whip around, squealing and snorting. The master ninja jumped down and untied the cleaver from the leader's belt with little trouble. He headed to the door, waving to his wife. She nodded, dropped a plate (this time from the opposite end of the room), and leapt to join him when the guards moved.

 

         The door shut behind her and she leaned against it, grinning. The kitchen opened up before them, blessedly quite and empty.

 

         “I believe that went very well,” she hummed, pushing up her mask.

 

         “I agree,” he replied, stretching his arms above his head. “Now, let us take our home back!” He moved over to the control level, pulling it back with a few clicks. The cold furnace growled and then roared, flames leaping up, red and hot. They gleamed off Sada's teeth as she grinned.

 

         “I hope t’ey will not give Sly- _kun_ too much trouble on their way out…”

 

         Outside, Sly shifted his weight, stretching his shoulders against the armor. Not to complain, but how much longer until Rioichi and Sada forced the guards out? The restaurant couldn’t have been _that_ large.

 

         He stifled a bored yawn, debating whether he could comm someone to keep him company. Probably not, he finally decided, pressing his lips into a flat line. He heaved a sigh, listening to the way his breath whistled around the too large armor, and-

 

         There was a storm of pounding behind him, mixed with clashing armor and yelling and squealing the likes of which he had never heard. Tail fluffing, he all but dove out of the way as the doors burst open to release a flood of boars.

 

         “We’ve been _cursed_!” one guard screeched. “Cursed by Cooper’s vengeful ancestors!”

 

         “ _Onryou!_ _ONRYOU!”_ another wailed. Grinning with both amusement and befuddlement, Sly watched them scatter in the streets, lifting his helmet for a better view.

 

         “Sly- _kun.”_ He started and half-turned to find Rioichi and Sada standing in the doorway. “Are you well?” the master ninja asked, gesturing to his descendant’s ruffled fur. Sly grinned.

 

         “The guards nearly ran me over trying to get away from here.” He nodded behind them to the interior of the restaurant. “Everyone out?”

 

         “Yes,” Rioichi affirmed. “T’ough it will take time to put t’ings back in order. Will you tell Akane we will come for her soon?”

 

         “Of course.” As if on cue, a rush of excited Japanese chatter filled the earpieces, followed by a kit’s ecstatic chirp.

 

         “Patience, _aijou,”_ Sada laughed when the stream of words ended. “We

will be t’ere soon. Behave for your _oniisans_ and _oneesan._ ”

 

         _“Yes! See you soon, Kaa-san!”_ Akane sang. There was a shifting sound (the microphone, Sly recognized) before Bentley spoken.

 

         _“Great job, you guys!”_ the turtle praised. _“I’ve disabled the cameras and wires, so you can pull those down whenever you’d like. Your home is_ your home _once again.”_

_“Domo arigatou gozaimasu,”_ Rioichi breathed, subtly resting against the doorway. Sada leaned against the opposite side, looking worn and invigorated all at once. He had almost forgotten that she had spent the early evening trapped in the Geisha House. Her rescue in the midnight hours was something of a blur, and now she was back in her home.

 

         All before dawn.

 

         Sly watched them something akin to fondness and concern. It was a strange look, especially on someone so much younger than them. The grey raccoon cocked his head, letting his helmet fall back into place.

 

         “Want me to stick around so no one shows up?” he offered, to no one in particular. The two ninja shook their heads while Bentley spoke in his ear.

 

         _“No, Sly, you can head back to the safe house,”_ the turtle told him. _“Everything should be quiet from here on out.”_ The master thief gave a low hum.

 

         “If you’re sure.” He dipped his head to his ancestors. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

 

         “Yes, Sly- _kun,”_ Sada replied, giving a slight nod-bow. “Get back safely.”

 

         She watched him disappear up the street, struggling with the armor, before retreating back inside to close the doors. They shut with a familiar creak and a quiet thump, and she let her palms rest against the worn wood for a moment. Rioichi fitted the discarded plank from outside over the entrance while she walked out of the foyer, hands on her hips.

 

         “Pigs,” the _kunoichi_ grumbled, looking around her husband’s restaurant with critical eyes. Now that she wasn’t focused on avoiding a platoon of guards, she could assess the havoc wreaked upon their home. She stepped nimbly over the broken glass, cursing under her breath. Rioichi followed in her footsteps, feeling like he could breathe again for the first time in weeks.

 

         “The damage isn’t as bad as it looks,” he said mildly, turning a slow circle. He faced his wife, a smile gracing his lips. “And they didn’t go upstairs, at least.”

 

         “They had better not,” she muttered. “Or I think I’ll be insisting that you serve _niku-dango_ when we reopen.” Rioichi allowed himself to laugh openly at that.

 

         The sound felt strange coming out of his mouth, the lightness in his chest foreign. Shaking his head, he turned away, pulling his hood down.

 

         In all honesty, the repairs wouldn’t take too long to make, maybe a few days. They would be able to replace the broken plates and bowls during that time. Collecting ingredients would take a little longer; no doubt the majority of them had spoiled. Perhaps they could ask Sly and his companions for help. Then they could open the _Tsuri Araiguma_ within the week.

 

         "Catch." Rioichi blinked and put out a hand to snatch up the broom Sada had tossed his way. Standing by a discrete closet, she pulled out a second broom and a bucket with a few rags. "Let's get the garbage off the floor. I don't want Akane to step on any glass."

 

         It took them an hour to sweep up the floors and rearrange the seats and tables. Rioichi put the intact rice bags back in the storage room while Sada cleaned the serving bar. Once finished, they moved back into the kitchen, tackling the stacks of unwashed plates and bowls and the dusty countertops.

 

         Rioichi was re-sharpening his knives when something encouraged him to look over at his wife. She was washing down the counters with a rag, behind and to the right of him. The everyday task was at sharp juxtaposition with her outfit, the garb of a ninja. She was using her mask as a makeshift headband, her sleeves rolled to her elbows. Her jade gaze was content, and she was humming a song he recognized from _Tanabata_ , which they had participated in last year.

 

         A warm smile curved his lips.

 

         He was so very in love with her.

 

         Sada was fierce, independent, and proud of who she was. He relished the fact that they could talk and argue and debate. Nothing he said could sway her if she didn’t want to agree with him. She was of her own mind, and he loved it and her. He couldn't imagine her being submissive, to anyone let alone him. She was his equal in heart and mind, and perhaps his superior in strength of spirit.

 

         Not a day went by when he didn’t remember when she had officially taken the name Cooper. In his opinion, it had always belonged to her.

 

         “What?” Sada laughed, a light, familiar sound, catching sight of her husband’s gaze on her. “Do I have something in my fur?” Rioichi blushed, actually blushed. Murmuring a soft negative, he turned his attention back to his knives. He heard her chuckle and go back to washing the counter.

 

         He followed her example, sliding his cleaver across the sharpening block. A few minutes into it, though, something started to feel…

 

         Off.

 

         With each rhythmic push of his arm to hone the blade, something tightened in chest. He didn’t notice it until it became uncomfortable, and ignored it until it became unbearable. He tried picking up his fillet knife, but no, even the satisfaction of it in working order again wasn’t soothing him.

 

         The world was… surreal. Or maybe too normal. It was like nothing had happened. No one had broken into their home. No one had kidnapped his wife. No one had forced his daughter to flee in terror. No one had chained and caged him to stop him from finding them.

 

         No one had violated his family, but they _had,_ and he wanted to scream in rage and despair and _terror_.

 

         He set down his knife, quiet and careful, and braced himself against the counter. The unsettled feeling from earlier reared once again, stronger than before, coiling in the center of his chest.

 

         And he couldn’t loosen it.

 

         At least Sada had her back to him. He put a hand to his face, trying to breath slowly. Everything was all right now ( _right now; it wasn’t before_ ). Everyone he loved and cared about was safe ( _for now; there was still danger, danger everywhere_ ). They had allies ( _don’t rely on them; you’re stronger than that, you_ should _have been_ ). This tiger would be taken care of ( _but what more will you risk while he stays?_ ).

 

         The next breath he took was less of a breath and more of a gasp, soft and shaking. His sight blurred, cleared, and blurred again, and he clenched his teeth against the tightness rising in his throat. A throttled noise escaped him, short and high. He prayed that Sada hadn’t heard, but he knew she had.

 

         “Rioichi?” He started, pain searing through the muscles in his neck as he jerked around. The tears, traitorous things, glittered in the dim light filtering through the slats in the windows. Sada blinked from the counter, a hand resting on the polished wood, her rag forgotten. Her fur fluffed, a worried note slipping into her voice. “Rioichi?”

 

         “I’m sorry.” He turned away and scraped at the tears, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes. “I’m fine, really, I don’t-” Slender fingers touched his wrists. Gently, Sada pulled his hands from his face, dropping them to clean his cheeks herself.

 

         “Oh, my sweet husband,” she breathed. His bronze eyes were bright, desperate at the edges. She untied his mask and then his hair, running her fingers through the russet strands. Her own eyes were getting a little wet, but she ignored the sensation, choosing to smile instead. “It hit you all at once, didn’t it?”

 

         A broken noise escaped the master ninja. Not a sob or a whimper or a breath, but something fragile all the same. She wrapped her arms around his chest, feeling his arms cross her back. His chin dropped to her shoulder, and she could feel him clenching his jaw, feel the way his chest trembled, feel the way his thoughts curled and twisted like thorns.

 

         She would not allow them to push their roots any deeper.

 

         "…Failed you and Akane, my entire family," he was muttering. His agony was a palpable thing, thick and tarry, clinging to his skin.

 

         “Rioichi, you have failed _no one_ and _nothing_ ,” she whispered fiercely. “These tears aren’t weakness.” He opened his mouth, but she spoke over him. “I wouldn’t have married you if you were weak.” She pulled back to look at him. “But it’s perfectly acceptable to not be strong sometimes. Especially after being strong for so long.”

 

         “But-”

 

         “Shh,” she hushed him. He dropped his head to her shoulder, eyes squeezed shut. “Just catch your breath. There’s no shame in resting for a while.”

 

         There was no arguing with his wife when she took that tone. The master ninja forced himself to take a few steadying breaths, in through his nose and out through his mouth, letting the air travel without rushing. She kept humming, nosing his ears, fingers tracing over his back. His heart steadied at the careful touches, and he heaved a sigh into the crook of her neck.

 

         “Better?” she asked a few minutes later. He nodded.

 

         “Yes.” He breathed a sigh. “Thank you.”

 

         “You’re welcome. And, just so we’re clear, I love you,” she added. “Very much.” She kissed his cheek. “Don’t think I don’t.” He chuckled, nuzzling against her.

 

         “I love you too.” He straightened, brushing the hair out of his face. “I’m sorry for…” He waved a hand at the air. She shook her head.

 

         “When are you going to understanding that you don’t have to apologize for being a person?”

 

**~***~**

         Sly probably should have been in bed a while ago, but watching Akane took priority. The kit was brimming energy generated by excitement, and insisted on staying up until her parents came for her. Smirking, the master thief had shooed his team to bed and plotted.

 

         “All right, kiddo.” He had crouched to her level. “How ‘bout you change into your pajamas, and then I tell you a story while we wait for your mom and dad?”

 

         Her eyes had lit up and she darted off in search of her discarded robes. That had been just a little over an hour ago. Now, she was relaxed against his chest, most of her energy gone, and he was on his last tale of the night.

 

         “So, t’e first treasure you ever stole was a jar of… cookies?” Akane sounded stuck between somewhere amazed and confused, peeking up at him.

 

         “Uh huh.” Sly paused by the van and opened the back, shifting Akane to his hip and reaching in to grab a red jar out of one of the trunk compartments. “And we thought we weren’t going to get them because we were almost caught by the janitor.” He handed her the old cookie jar, red paint faded and surface lined with cracks. “Murray had to pull me out through a window.”

 

         “T’en how did you get t’e cookies?” she wondered, running her fingers over the ceramic with surprising care.

 

         “I hid them in my hat.” He took said hat off and placed it over her head, smiling when she giggled. He chuckled with her, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t like taking it off when his hair wasn’t brushed; it made him look like a teenager.

 

         Akane seemed to enjoy it though, handing him the jar to tug it down further. She yawned, and the hat dropped over her eyes, shielding them from the light. Her chin fell to his shoulder, her tiny fingers curled into his sweater. He smiled to himself, putting the jar back in the van.

 

         “You tell good stories,” she praised. She yawned again. “T’ey are like t’e ones _Tou-san_ tells me.” She nestled deeper into his grip “He stole a dragon’s pearl once, you know. And an empress’s hair comb.” Her eyes slid shut. “ _Kaa-san_ wears it sometimes.” Sly’s only reply was a low hum. He readjusted the kit so she was more comfortable, his hand against her back as she dozed off.

 

         A few minutes passed, the kit’s breath deepening with each one. Sly swayed his weight from one leg to the other, wondering if he should let her completely fall asleep, when there was tapping from behind him, fingers on stone.

 

         Tightening his grip on Akane, Sly glanced over his shoulder. He relaxed when he saw who it was, ducking his head to nose at Akane’s temple to rouse her. The girl opened her eyes sleepily, lifting the hat with a hand. She perked a little when she saw her parents, reaching out a limp arm. When Sada took her from Sly, she gave a soft chirp, snuggling into her mother’s chest.

 

         “T’ank you for watching her,” Rioichi murmured.

 

         “No problem,” Sly answered. “She wasn’t any trouble.”

 

         “How did you get her to rest?” Sada whispered. “I would have t’ought she would have stayed up waiting.”

 

         “She tried,” Sly chuckled. The kit grumbled, burrowing deeper into her mother’s hold. “But you pick up a few things when you grow up in an orphanage, and I know all the tricks to get kids to sleep.” He eased the hat from the kit’s head without waking her and settled it between his ears with a grin. It immediately fell when he looked to the two ninjas, who were wearing expression of surprise and... hurt? It set him on an uneasy edge. “What’s wrong?”

 

         “…” Rioichi gave a brisk shake of his head. “Not’ing. We will see you in t’e evening, Sly- _kun_.”

 

         “Likewise,” the master thief replied, still mildly concerned. “Uh, sleep

well.”

 

         “To you as well,” Sada whispered.

 

         “Mmm… _Ohayou,_ _oniisan_ ,” Akane hummed, managing to half-turn her head to peer at him with one eye. “See you in t’e evening.”

 

         “Sleep well,” he whispered back. With one last nod, Rioichi and Sada left the hideout, heading back to their home. Sly couldn’t help but smile to himself, glad that at least a few things were getting put back in some semblance of order.

 

         “What you did was really sweet.” He looked over to where Calia was standing in the mouth of the other cave, leaning sideways against the rock with her arms folded over her chest. He colored, offering a contrite smile.

 

         “Did I wake you up?” She shook her head.

 

         “I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted. “I’m not used to Murray’s snoring yet.”

 

         “Yeah, it takes time,” he explained with a laugh. “I’ll see if I can’t get him a little quieter.” He fiddled with his cane, glancing at the hideout’s entrance. “Hey, you’re good at reading people, right?” Calia blinked at the rapid change in conversation before nodding.

         “Yeah. Why?”

 

         “I think I offended Rioichi and Sada, but I don’t know what I said,” the master thief mumbled, rubbing his neck again and putting the hand with his cane on his hip. “You were watching. What’d I do wrong?”

 

         “…Sly.” There was something amused and sad in the saboteur’s voice, the two emotions clashing. He stared at her, a sinking feeling in his gut. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” She shook her head, loose hair whispering. It seemed to glow in the beams of sunlight filtering through the vines. “People tend to get a little sympathetic when others mention spending their lives in an orphanage.”

 

         “…Oh,” he breathed, dropping his hands back to his side. “I didn’t mean to-”

 

         “I know you didn’t. So did Sada and Rioichi.” She pushed away from the wall, walking over to put a hand on his shoulder. “That’s why it makes us sad. Because you say it so matter of fact.”

         “…I didn’t mean to make you sad, too,” he told her, amber eyes remorseful. He put a hand over hers, squeezing her fingers. “But you knew where I was from my letters.”

 

         “Yeah, I did, but that doesn’t mean I’m used to you saying it so plainly.” She squeezed his shoulder and he squeezed her palm before letting go. She shook her head again, removing her hand. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” she repeated. “Expect maybe staying up so late.” She turned back to the secondary cave. “You coming?”

 

         “Yeah.” He followed half a step behind her and headed to his sleeping bag. Bentley and Murray with both asleep, so he went to his knees between them, curling against Murray’s chest. His weight forced the snores to break of with a gurgle and a smacking of lips.

 

         “Thanks,” Calia whispered from the wall.

 

         “No problem,” Sly answered, closing his eyes. “Get some rest.”

 

         The master thief rested in silence, listening to the sound of breathing around him. Bentley rolled over and cuddled his tail, bringing a faint smile to his lips. Murray mumbled something about giant scorpions and opal mines. The raccoon counted about a hundred and sixty something of his own heartbeats.

 

         There was no other noise.

 

         He opened his eyes and lifted his head.

 

         “Calia?” he called, the low whisper cutting through the air. “Do you want to move your sleeping bag over here?”

 

         A few drowsy fireflies buzzed in the following quiet. He heard her shift, but didn’t get an answer. She must have been asleep already. He shook his head at his silliness and settled back against Murray, letting the big man’s warmth lull him to sleep.

 

         Had Sly stayed awake a few moments longer, he would have heard the soft whisper of someone sitting up. He would have heard them shuffle free of their blankets and stand, fingers flexing with indecision. He would have heard a terse, melancholy sigh. He would have heard them crawl back into the sleeping bag and curl up into a ball with a strange finality and determination.

 

         And he would have been sad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would just like to say (and it's probably really egotistical and crap) that I really love writing Rioichi and Sada. They give me feels. ^_^  
> The ending is weird in my opinion, but sometimes the characters like to do their own thing and drag me along for the ride.
> 
> I WOULD ALSO LIKE TO SAY THANK YOU FOR ALL THE BEAUTIFUL COMMENTS MY HEART CANNOT TAKE THIS YOU GUYS ARE GREAT
> 
> Oh, and a quick heads up!  
> I'll be away from internet access for a while, so I might be updating an extra chapter in a few days, depending on when I get my internet back.


	17. Code Pink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: attempted non-con (it doesn’t go far, he doesn’t even get the clothes off, but still), some mild non-con (kissing with a butt grab)
> 
> Translations:  
> Konbanwa – Good evening  
> Okayu – rice porridge  
> Sama – one of the most respectful honorifics  
> Toneriko – from Toneriko Town (Terracotta Town) in Pokémon  
> Preciosa – precious  
> Sólo una rata apestosa que quiere demonstrar que él tiene razón – roughly, “Only a stinking rat with a point to make”

         Murray’s dreaming was rudely interrupted by a wild yelp. An elbow caught him in the gut and he jerked, hands coming up to seize the would-be attacker. Soft fur and wiry muscle- just Sly. Did he have a nightmare?

 

         “Bentley, _why?”_ came the groan. Now he just had to see what was going on. Opening his eyes and lifting his head, he was greeted by a sulky raccoon no more than a foot from his face. Sly threw a half-hearted glare in Bentley’s direction, fussing over his tail.

 

         “Huh?” Murray wondered, letting the master thief go. “Bentley, what’d you do?”

 

         “I didn’t do anything,” the turtle retorted, fumbling with his glasses. Once he could see, he pulled himself into his wheelchair in a practiced motion.

 

         “He pulled my tail,” Sly griped, the offended appendage cradled in two hands. He combed his fingers through the fur and then wrapped it around his ankles, dropping his chin to Murray’s chest with a pout. "Hard."

 

         “In my _sleep,”_ Bentley defended. Against the wall, Calia propped herself up on her forearms, her hair a white mess over her face.

 

         “Poor baby,” the hippo cooed, patting the top of Sly’s head. The raccoon shook him off with a grumble and stood. There was a snicker from the corner and Murray twisted a bit to see Calia covering her mouth, blue eyes bright.

 

         “You guys are adorable,” she giggled. Murray grinned, Sly muttered something, and Bentley rolled his eyes. The white raccoon stretched, pushing her arms under her pillow and leaning back on her knees, and slipped out from the sleeping bag.

 

         “What’s the plan?” she asked, rolling her shoulders.

 

         “Well, I assume Rioichi will need help getting the restaurant up and running again,” Bentley told her. He clasped his breastplate in place and adjusted his safari hat. “There are caverns of both freshwater and saltwater nearby with a rather impressive array of flora to boot, but you know what they say about assumptions. So we're gonna wait it out. ” Calia nodded, thoughtful as she bent and picked up not her grey jumpsuit and binder, but her _kimono_.

 

         “I’ve got the meeting with El Jefe today.” Murray jolted, fully awake now. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sly falter with his sweater halfway on before tugging it down. His face was calm, but he was boiling underneath, streaks of worry and frustration snapping around him in stinging bursts. It reminded the big man of lightning.

 

         But a thoughtful, “hmm” was all Sly offered.

 

         “I can get in touch with Rioichi,” the master thief said. “See if he and Sada are up for laying low, just for the day.” Bentley nodded, Calia started messing with her robe, and the room was quiet.

 

         Murray rolled to his feet and pulled on his mask, buckling his belt around his waist. He stomach sounded a low gurgle and he shuffled out into the main room in search of breakfast, leaving the rest of the gang behind. He could really go for, like, a breakfast burrito or something. Eggs and bacon and potatoes… Or one of Sly’s crepes. A breakfast burrito full of crepes.

 

         His mouth watered, but he reached for the plastic bin of nutrition bars all the same. A zip of energy prodded against him, friendly and curious. He peered over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of dark green and black-clad figure in the doorway.

 

         “Hey, Sada,” he grinned. “What are you doing here?”

 

         _“_ My husband t’ought you might like a hot breakfast,” Sada explained. She wasn’t wearing her mask, and her hair was tied up in a pretty, simple bun. In a hand, she held the handle of a medium-sized pot. She set it down on the table, avoiding the papers and equipment scattered around. “Are you familiar with _okayu?”_

 

         “No, but it smells _amazing,”_ Murray groaned, sniffing the air. Cooked rice with a hint of spicy sweet… ginger. And something even sweeter.

 

         His mouth watered.

 

         Honey.

 

         “My husband will be happy to hear so,” she laughed. Murray smiled at the sound; it was genuine and warm and made her aura shiver pleasantly.

 

         “You guys settling back in all right?”

 

         “Yes, we are.” She eased a pack from her shoulders and pulled out four bowls and a large spoon. “It was nice to sleep wit’out having to fear waking.” He nodded and helped her set out the utensils.

 

         “I’ll get the gang,” he announced, but it was unnecessary. Sly padded into the room, cane in hand, cap on. He walked over, Bentley following.

 

         “Evening,” the master thief greeted, peering curiously at the pot. “What’s this?”

 

         “Oak-ah-you!” Murray explained. The master thief grinned.

 

         “Thank you,” he said to Sada. “Tell Rioichi too, please.”

 

         “Of course,” she purred, tail giving a happy left-right flick. “It is t’e least we could do.”

 

         Calia, at that moment, walked out from the second cave. She was adjusting her _kimono_ with her _obi_ thrown over one shoulder. Sada tipped her head to one side, crossing her arms over her chest.

 

         “You look lovely, Calia- _chan,_ but I t’ought you already performed your dance.”

 

         “I’ve got one more left,” the saboteur replied, a half smile on her lips. Murray imagined the sweetness in the air turning a little sour. “For El Jefe, actually.” Sada’s jade eyes went razor sharp, fixing on Calia. The hippo twitched at the raw wave of _nonono_ and fear.

 

         “You are meeting with t’e tiger?” The _kunoichi_ sounded perfectly calm, but she was boiling like Sly had boiled, frothing at the edges like a storm.

 

         “Yeah.” Calia sounded just a little too blasé, even to Murray’s ears. “We need more information, and the only way to get it is from the source.”

 

         “…You are… aware of t’e danger you are walking into, yes?”

 

         “Sada _,_ every step I take is into danger,” the white raccoon responded.

 

         “He will attempt to seduce you,” the _kunoichi_ warned. “If you do not submit to his charms, he will turn to t’reats. And if t’reats fail, he will become enraged. T’ere is a chance he may simply take what he wants from you.”

 

         The air was definitely sour now. Murray felt his appetite fade as a weight settled in his gut, cold and wary. Expectant, almost. He pondered it briefly, catching a glimpse of Sly. The master thief’s eyes were fixed on nothing in particular, but they were fire hot.

 

         “Yes, I’ve seen what El Jefe can do,” Calia answered. “And I know I can handle a bully like him. I’ve handled worse.” She watched Sada with her hands folded behind her back. “I appreciate you trying to scare me into being cautious, but I already know to be carful.”

 

         Silence rolled through the cave like mist. Calia and Sada seemed to be having, not a battle, but a standoff of some kind. Murray watched their energy swirl restlessly around, biting his lip. Bentley broke the spell, wheeling to the van in a subtle effort to escape. Sada’s jade eyes shifted to him, spearing him with their intensity.

 

         “…Bentley- _san_ , forgive me if I am wrong, but your weapons include poison, correct?”

 

         “Uh, well, not poison, per se,” the genius fumbled. “More like a sleeping potion, I guess.”

 

         “Can you put it in this?” She tugged something from her finger, holding it up to the light. It was ring, carved from wood, with three small spikes protruding from it. She held it out to Bentley, who wheeled closer to take it.

 

         “ _Kakute,”_ Sly murmured, venturing to Murray’s side. The big man gave him a light pat on the back, a far cry from the teasing one he had given earlier. “A poison ring.” Sada nodded.

 

         “I want you to have it,” she told Calia. “And use it against El Jefe if it becomes necessary to do so.”

 

         “I think it would work,” Bentley mumbled to himself, rubbing his chin. He reached into his side-pack, pulling out a dart. He slipped the needle into the near invisible holes in the tip of the spikes, emptying the dart’s contents. “There.” He handed it to Calia. “One nick with this, and El Jefe will sleep like the big baby he is.”

 

         “Thank you, but this really isn’t necessary,” she sighed, taking it. Sada raised an eyebrow, still stormy under her white and blonde fur.

 

         “You hope it will not be necessary.” The _kunoichi_ gave a bow and turned away, leaving the hideout. “Enjoy your breakfast. My husband and I will wait for your call.” And she was gone.

 

         “Well, on that note.” Sly clapped his hands together, forcing an air of cheer. “Why don’t we eat while this is hot? Because I am _starving._ ”

 

         But he hardly touched the _okayu_ , watching the swirls of honey disappear as he twisted his spoon. Calia scraped her bowl clean, careful not to get any on her clothes. Bentley gave Murray an in depth explanation of _okayu_ , from how it was made to what it was made of and what is was used for. Murray listened with half of an ear, took the seconds Sly pushed his way, and watched Calia get up to fight with her _kimono_. Licking the honey off his fingers, he got up and meandered over to her.

 

         “Here, I got this.” Murray took the sash and tied itwith great care, smoothing it down and fussing over the edges. He adjusted her robes too, helping her hitch them a little higher so she was completely covered.

 

         “You got the makeup?” he checked. She nodded, holding up the brushes and small containers she had swiped from the Geisha House.

 

         “I got the makeup.”

 

         “Good. I’ll do your hair.” He took the comb she handed him and got to work, trying to replicate the bun Sada had worn. He tied it looser, leaving a few wisps free to frame her face. He kept undoing it, saying each time he could do it better, but he knew why he was being so picky and he was pretty sure Calia did too, even though she said nothing.

 

         He was stalling.

 

         Finally, a small hand touched his wrist, forcing him to stop.

 

         “Thanks for the help, big guy.” Calia turned to face him, every inch a pretty young geisha. She smiled at him, eyes crinkled. “But I have to go.”

 

         “Yeah,” he answered. Picking up the _kakute,_ he slid it onto the middle finger of her left hand. “You’re gonna do great and you’re gonna be fine,” he suddenly insisted, gripping her shoulders. “Like, you’re a badass, of course you’ll be fine.” She giggled, and thanked him again. He grinned and it was only part forced. Confidence in a teammate, the faith in their abilities, encouragement beforehand– Calia needed that, even if she thought she didn’t. And the Murray was over _flowing_ with confidence; he had no issues sharing.

 

         “Right, guys?” he added, staring at Sly and Bentley. The turtle nodded, pushing his glasses up his nose, and the other raccoon smirked.

 

         “We’ll be waiting.”

 

         “Then I’m off.” Squaring her shoulders, Calia left them behind, a picture of delicate beauty.

 

         The three men all exchanged looks after she was gone. It was a job that had to be done, but…

 

         Bentley polished his glasses furiously and Sly bounced his leg and Murray went to go rummage through the chests.

 

         They didn’t have to like it.

 

**~***~**

         Calia was frustrated. It was a mild frustration, just teasing through her fur, but not ruffling it. She sighed, stepping over a bridge.

 

         She understood the Gang’s concern, but she didn’t have to like it. She was _used_ to dangers like this. When were they going to understand? Was it because she was a woman? The frustration sharped, but she forced it down. No, they had the decency to know to respect her.

 

         _‘It’s because you’re a team and teammates worry about each other,’_ a little thought bubble chimed. It sounded like Matiz. She shook him, it, off, but it clung.

 

         It was probably because there were no cameras in the geishas’ quarters and it was too risky to wear an earpiece. There was no way to alert them to trouble or ask for help. While it didn’t bother her (she was a solo artist, after all), it did wrack the nerves of the team she was a part of.

 

         At least, the team she was temporarily a part of.

 

         She heaved a silent sigh, mulling over Sly’s question from the other day. She had wanted to move closer to the three, to sleep next to them, but… She shook her head. No, it was better for everyone if she maintained a professional distance.

 

         Though she couldn't deny it was becoming increasingly harder to do so. For one, following through with the Gang on their operation would lead to more answers than she could find alone. And she was getting used to Murray’s snores and Bentley’s older brother mentality and Sly’s… Sly’s…. She couldn’t pinpoint just one thing.

 

         She couldn’t trouble on this new realization for long, the Geisha House rising up before her. The large building gleamed, full of lights and music, the guffawing of guards and raucous cheers. The saboteur lingered in the dark for a few moments, gathering herself.

 

         El Jefe was already waiting by the side door, his fingers tapping along the length of a freshly lit cigar. His shrewd eyes swept the plaza, seeking her out. She left the shadows of the building, painting a welcoming smile on her face.

 

         “ _Konnichiwa,_ Jefe- _sama,”_ she chirped, bowing to him.

 

         “Geisha,” he leered, returning the bow and taking her bare hand. She twitched at his touch (it was wrong, all wrong, every nerve from the tip of her pinky to the base of her palm was screeching) and kissed it. She stifled a disgusted twitch when his tongue laved at her knuckle. “Shall we?” He opened the doors and held them like a gentleman, but the bare of his teeth revealed a sadist’s smile.

 

         They entered the building and she let him lead her to a private room. About ten feet by twelve feet, it was no larger than a college dorm room, but it oozed opulence. The carpets were soft and plush, the pictures on the painted on silk canvas. A low table, laid out with a menagerie of drinks, was set before a low couch flooded with cushions. A mirror hung over a set of cupboards pressed against the wall. The light was dim and warm, making for a cozy scene.

 

         El Jefe slid the doors shut with a thumb, brushing passed her with a hard slap to her backside. The sting lingered, and she bit back a hiss.

 

         “Ready to entertain me? Geisha?” he sneered around his cigar, draping himself over the couch. He folded his arms behind his head, legs planted in a wide stance. All signs of dominance.

 

         What an arrogant piece of shit.

 

         “Of course, Jefe- _sama_ ,” she sang, beaming. She swept to the table and picked up a bottle of _sake_. “Something to drink?”

 

         “I do not drink on the job,” the tiger told her. “And you can put the tea away,” he added, waving a hand in disgust.

 

         “Something to eat then?” She picked up the tray and turned away, tucking the drink items back into the cupboard. She glanced up at the mirror, watching the tiger. “Sushi?” His ears pinned, jaw clenching. A low growl made its way to her, too quiet to be heard had she not been waiting for it.

 

         “No,” he grumbled. “Sushi leaves a bad taste in my mouth.”

 

         “Really?” she twittered. “I’m new here, but I heard that there is a restaurant nearby t-”

 

         “It’s shut down and will _stay_ shut down,” the mercenary general snarled. She jumped for effect, hunching her shoulders as she turned. He huffed and gestured impatiently to the open seat by his side. She moved to it and sat down; his arm draped around her waist and brought her back against his side. He smelled like tobacco smoke and singed fur mixed with sweat.

 

         “I locked up it’s ridiculous owner in my prison,” he told her, taking another drag from his cigar. She trailed her fingers across his wrist and said nothing. Best to let him rant and brag on his own. “It was meant to be inescapable, but I underestimated the Cooper Gang.” He exhaled smoke while she pondered over him expecting the gang. “No matter. I’ll crush them myself and lock them up. And this time, they won’t _ever_ find the keys.”

 

         “I’ve seen the prison. It is an impressive building,” she commented. “I can’t imagine anything better.” He laughed.

 

         “Even that magnificent prison pales when compared to my new statue fortress!” El Jefe declared, settling back against the cushions. She shifted in his grip to sit facing him, sideways on the couch.

 

         “‘Statue fortress?’” Calia echoed, blinking and cocking her head, widening her eyes for effect. “Is that where you are when you aren’t with us?”

 

         “Indeed it is, _preciosa,”_ he hummed, cupping her cheek and running his thumb across her bottom lip. “Perhaps I’ll take you there one day,” he added, smirking.

 

         “But how would I get there?” she whined, leaning against his chest. “There’s no way through.”

 

         “You would think so, silly geisha girl,” the tiger chuckles, tapping her nose. “But the Palace Gate switch is actually _under_ the bridge.” She mustered a smile at his ‘affection,’ tucking her legs up and laying her tail over them.

 

         “You’re very clever.” A good stroke to his ego would loosen his lips further. “I can’t imagine anyone beating you. I don’t even think anyone could even touch you through those big gates!”

 

         “Yes, _preciosa,_ my Dragon Gates are invincible,” he purred. He inhaled a lungful of smoke, the end of his cigar flaring red. “So long as that lazy guard doesn’t get distracted by sushi!” he added, snorting. She patted his chest in commiseration, filing the information away for later. “Not that he could find any. I sealed the fishing caves under the mountains.”

 

         “A wise move,” she praised with a giggle. She pouted a second later, brows creasing. “But I heard rumors that there was a group of ninja in this town. Couldn’t they do something about it?”

 

         “The Cooper Gang,” El Jefe snorted. “Fools who know nothing about winning a battle.” He reached for her hair tie, pulling it free. She forced back a wince as he pulled her hair. “Even if those fools get to the Dragon Gates, they’ll never figure out the switches are inside the dragon mouths!”

 

         _‘Murray did that for me!’_ she wanted to snap as the bun came loose. But she bit her tongue and let him curl the ends of her hair around his fingers.

 

         “Now I just need to find that blasted Rioichi, so I can deliver the package to the boss.” _Package? Boss?_

 

         “Oh?” She cocked her head, only for him to tug it back into place. She swallowed the urge to glare. “But I thought you were in charge, Jefe- _sama.”_ He made no comment. She bit her lip. “He must be powerful.”

 

         “Perhaps,” the tiger allowed. ‘ _Give me something to work with here!’_

 

         “He gave you the village,” she risked pointing out. The fingers in her hair stopped moving. “He must be as wealthy as an emperor.” El Jefe chuckled at that, a low, unpleasant noise.

 

         “Wealthy, yes, but not so grand as an emperor yet.” Yet. Hmm. _“Sólo una rata apestosa_ _que_ _quiere demonstrar que él tiene razón_ _,”_ he added under his breath. So he answered to a rat who wanted to prove a point. A stinking rat.

 

         Interesting.

 

         She opened her mouth to prod more, but the tiger shook his head and set his cigar in a nearby ashtray.

 

         “Enough, talk, _preciosa.”_ She blinked as she was manhandled to face him, straddling his lap. “Time to get what I came for.”

 

         Oh, goodness.

 

         _‘Here we go,’_ Calia thought, bracing herself. El Jefe leered and then leaned forward to kiss her. He tasted as horrible as his cigar smelled, if not worse. There was little she could do given her position and supposed role, but she could still fight back. The tiger liked a fight, liked the expectation of victory, so she played dead, not responding to the kiss or the grope of his hand over the small of her back. She flexed her hand, feeling the weight of the ring.

 

         The proverbial lightbulb went off. She owed Sada a more sincere thank you.

 

         _“_ Jefe- _sama_ , you do know the rules, right?” she huffed when he pulled away, licking his lips. ‘ _Reel him in by threatening to deny what he wants. He’ll want it more_.’ “Geisha aren’t allowed to give themselves to anyone.”

 

         “No one has to know, as long as you’re quiet.” He yanked her closer and she repositioned herself just enough so her neck was bared and she looking over his shoulder. She let out a neutral sort of hum while he nuzzled at her throat, fingers pulling at her _obi_. She twisted her ring around, the points facing down now, and put her hands over his back. She played with the sheaths containing his enhanced _katana_ , rubbed her palms over the dark material of his shirt. His purr was too loud, and she was getting sick of his grip on her tail. She lifted a hand to pet the back of his neck, bending her head to the short coppery fur as if to kiss him. All it took was a quick prick with the ring. He twitched and then chuckled.

 

         “Like to bite, _preciosa?”_

 

         “Sorry,” she cheeped, toying with a holster carrying a long scroll. Her ears perked. No doubt it was a copy of his plans. Maybe she could get away with taking it.

 

         “No, no, I like it,” he assured her. He sounded _way_ too eager for what he thought was going to happen. “Do it again.” So she did, sticking him for a second and third time. The set of his shoulders started to falter and she leaned forward as he leaned back. His pupils dilated, Bentley’s sleep serum working through his blood.

 

         “Is everything all right, Jefe- _sama?”_

 

“Yes… ” But he didn’t sound certain.

 

         “Maybe you should rest,” she hummed, coaxing him to lay down on his side. He put his head in her lap, eyes drifting shut and then snapping open. She petted his cheek, patient. After a few tense minutes, he nodded off, and she eased the scroll from its container. Slipping out from under him, she moved to the mirror to put some distance between them and inspect her new prize.

 

         The scroll was about as long as her forearm, but she wouldn’t be able to hide it in her sleeve lest it slip out. She bent to the cupboards, rifling through them until she found some extra hair ribbons. Glancing at El Jefe, who only made a vague sound, eyes closed, she tied the scroll to her leg. She straightened and adjusted her robes, testing the strength of her knots. Satisfied they would hold, she pulled of the _kakute_ and stashed it in the folds of her _obi_ , making sure the spikes didn’t pierce her by mistake.

 

         Now she just had to make her get-

 

         There was a groan from behind her and she tried not to roll her eyes, spinning on her heel to approach the tiger once more. He was sitting up now, rubbing his hands over his skull. Bentley’s tranquilizer hadn’t been enough to completely subdue him, but at least it slowed him down.

 

         “Is something wrong, Jefe- _sama_?” she crooned. “Would you like some water?”

 

         He glanced up at her, blank faced. His eyes, half focused and red, scoured her like he was searching for answers. She almost stiffened, but kept up an outward appearance of calm. He hadn’t caught on, but there was a growing suspicion on his face.

 

         In an abrupt motion, he snatched her hand.

 

         _“Preciosa,_ you _…_ What did… did you say your name…?” His words came out stumbling and garbled, but his fist clenched around hers in an iron grip. The feel of hot fur and sticky pads engulfing her fingers threw her almost completely, thoughts scattering in an effort to escape the sensation.

 

         “I didn’t.” She blinked rapidly, lips parted. He snatched her other hand, and her ears rang. “Please, let go.”

 

         “Who’re you?” he slurred instead. “You… said you were new… So… where are you from, _preciosa?_ I want a name. _”_

 

         “I’m,” _Matiz makes you watch anime, pick something,_ “Haruhi. I’m from the village over.” _Pick another anime thing._ “It’s called _Toneriko_.” _Good, good, now submit, he likes submission, he’ll calm down._ “I-I,” she swallowed and bowed her head. “I didn’t mean to make you angry. I thought you were asleep, so I went to leave to let you rest.”

 

         “No, no resting.” He fumbled for her _kimono_ again, tearing the _obi_ off in his impatience. She heard the _kakute_ fall to the floor and land near his foot. “Now, c’mere, _preciosa,_ and-”

 

         The door flew open, making them both jump, both look. El Jefe leaned around her and she half turned, eyes wide.

 

         A figure stood in the doorway, tall and curvy. Their hair was perfect, their makeup on absolute point. Their _kimono_ was mint green with dark green edging, patterned with teal flowers, accented by a blood red and royal blue _obi_. They walked on _geta_ sandals with ease, sweeping into the room with grace and poise.

 

         Wow.

 

         Maybe Murray should have been the geisha in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Midnight update yay!
> 
> A note- my internet access is going to be just fine, so updates will continue per usual. However, I am going to have to switch over to updating once a week. I'll post Friday and next Monday as usual, and then the updates will start coming every Monday.
> 
> And to ferretwolf- Carmelita will show up in the next arc, "Go West, Young Raccoon". For now, she's going after a certain sunk and getting over her unexpected break up. I have no intentions of throwing her out, no worries. ^_^


	18. Hands on Experience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: none as far as I can tell; let me know otherwise
> 
> Translations:  
> Obi – the sash on a kimono  
> Sama – one of the higher honorifics  
> Kakute – poison ring

         The silence was starting to venture into awkward territory, each one of them staring. Calia saw El Jefe’s brow furrow from the corner of her eye. There needed to be an explanation and it needed to happen now.

 

         “M-Madame Geisha!” she yelped, just catching herself from revealing the hippo’s identity. She bowed as best as she could with one hand trapped in El Jefe’s. “What are you doing here?”

 

         “You, uh,” Murray cleared his throat and switched to a higher tone, words slow and careful. “You’re needed elsewhere.”

 

         “Yes, of course.” El Jefe blinked, nonplussed, as she twisted out of his grip and went to Murray’s side. The hippo nodded, squelching the desire to throw her over his shoulder and book it back to the safe house.

 

         “Oh, Jefe _-sama?”_ he added.The tiger grunted, dragging a hand down his face, staring at the tattered _obi_ in his claws. “You can see yourself out.”

 

         Murray thought that would be it. He thought they would shut the door and be on their way and get back to the hideout with no problems.

 

         “Wait.”

 

         But no.

 

         “Madame Geisha,” the tiger slurred, shoving himself to his feet. The hippo prepared himself to punch the mercenary through a wall, shoulders tensing. Calia gripped his elbow, her fingers twitching when El Jefe winced and glanced down at his foot. “I thought… you were… vacationing.” Ok, this guy? Definitely drugged with Bentley’s sleep stuff.

 

         “Oh, uh…” Falsettos were hard. “I came back early.”

 

         The tiger grunted, crouching and picking something up. It was whatever he had stepped on. Calia gave a little exhale, watching him hold the _kakute_ to the light and squint. He was swaying on his feet, but his eyes were starting to sharpen, a dull flicker of understanding starting to spark in his narrow eyes.

 

         Aw, cupcakes. Looked like Murray was going to have to punch him through a wall anyway….

 

         “Oh, my ring!” Calia tweeted, darting forward. She pulled down the tiger’s arm and snatched the _kakute_ from his palm. She leaned toward El Jefe, smiling wide and pretty, and hid her hands behind her back. “It must have fallen off. Thank you for finding it!” Her delight was disarming, the bat of her eyelashes mesmerizing. El Jefe mumbled something and waved a hand, flopping back onto the couch. She bowed and returned to Murray, who all but shoved her out the door and nearly slammed the door behind them.

 

         “Easy, big guy,” Calia whispered to him when a boar eyed them from down the hall. “Nothing’s wrong. It’s just a normal day.” She closed her torn robe and smiled brightly at the guard, giving a little wave. “Let’s go.”

 

         Murray had to restrain himself from glaring at everyone they passed, but they left the Geisha House without any more trouble. No one followed them; no one even called out to them. The big man kept shooting Calia little glances as they walked, eyeing the way she kept her hands hidden. The outer robe of her _kimono_ was open, but she ignored it, blue eyes lost in contemplation. She was favoring her right leg, too, keeping it stiffer and straighter than its twin.

 

         Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. Ducking into a small alley between building, he beckoned. When she approached, he dropped his fake falsetto to pick her up. Blue eyes were now level with his grey-brown.

 

         “What happened?” Murray demanded to know, scanning her. The saboteur looked fine, maybe a little dazed, but she had a better poker face than Bentley. “How’re you? Did he hurt you? You’re walking funny, what did he do?” He wanted to go back and sock the tiger in the jaw, but the raccoon shook her head.

 

         “I’m eternally grateful is what I am.” She kicked her legs. “Down, please?”

 

         “Sorry.” He set her down. “But seriously, you’re limping.”

 

         “Not exactly.” She glanced over her shoulder at the Geisha House. “Let’s just say I have a gift for Bentley.” Murray cocked his head, eyebrow raised, but chose not to comment. “C’mon,” she insisted, peeking out of the alley. “Sly and Bentley probably have no clue what’s going on right now.

 

         “Yeah. I kinda left in a rush,” he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. They started on their way again, avoiding guards despite their disguises.

 

         “Not that I’m not grateful, but why did you come get me? I thought you guys couldn’t see me,” Calia wondered. She wobbled in the wooden sandals when her foot dipped into an uneven patch of road. “And how do you walk in these things?” she demanded, hopping a few steps to tug them off. Murray remembered her saying something about preferring bare feet.

 

         “I got a weird feeling,” he explained, recalling how the pit in his stomach had wrenched itself open and he _needed_ to find a _kimono_ , put it on, and race to the Geisha House. Sly hadn’t even gotten a word out before he was gone. “And I don’t know. Feels easy to me.” He looked down to regard his toes, as if they knew the answer, and shrugged. “I like them.”

 

         “They do look good on you,” she agreed. “Same with the _kimono.”_

 

         “Thanks,” he grinned. “It’s super comfy.”

 

         The hideout came into view, and the pair ducked through the vines, arriving in the main cave. Bentley was tinkering with his crossbow, poking at a variety of wires. Sly watched him, crouched on the back of a chair, his amber eyes unblinking. He jerked at the sound of their approach, tail giving a low swish. His ears folded a little, something between worry and irritation on his face, and opened his mouth.

 

         Calia beat him to it.

 

         “I’m uninjured and psychologically sound. Yes, my _kimono_ is torn, but that’s as far as El Jefe got. I have a gold mine of information because he likes the sound of his own voice. While it was helpful, I understand the stress it put you all through, so I will do my best to avoid such risky situations in the future. Additionally, I owe Murray at least two bowls of noodles when we get back to Paris, because he knew I needed back up. ‘How?’ is a question for him.” She put down her hand. “Does that cover it?”

 

         The water blurbled in the cave and the fireflies buzzed. Sly and Bentley exchanged looks; the raccoon shrugged one shoulder.

 

         “Yeah, I guess it does,” the turtle sighed. The saboteur smiled, tail flicking.

 

         “Awesome.” She bent down, hitching her _kimono_ up. The three watched curiously as she untied something and came up brandishing a scroll. “This was why I was limping,” she explained to Murray, stepping forward to hand it to Bentley. “Feel free to peruse that. I’m going to wash my hands and then tell you what I found out.”

 

         “Wash your hands?” Bentley echoed, lifting his head. The scroll, it seemed, could wait.

 

         “Yeah,” she said. Bentley peeked up at her. “El Jefe had his mitts all over them, so…” She shrugged. “They feel off.”

 

         “May I?” Bentley offered, holding out his hands. Calia hesitated, hands curled into loose fists at her chest. “Trust me, I know how to treat raccoon hands. But I understand if you don’t want me to touch.”

 

         “He really does know how,” Murray threw in, sitting down at the table.

 

         “I second that,” Sly affirmed.

 

         “…Can you make the…” She waved her hands, making a frustrated noise. “It feels like El Jefe is all over me. Can you make it go away?”

 

         “I can. Take a seat,” the turtle answered, gesturing to the stool by him. She sighed, sat down, and set the backs of her hands in his upturned palms. “How bad was it?”

 

         “He was _sweaty_. And _huge_ ,” Calia shuddered. Bentley nodded, grateful for his cool reptilian skin and stubby fingers. She gave a guilty sigh. “I would have worn gloves, but it wouldn’t have worked with the outfit.”

 

         “I completely understand.” Bentley let go of her to pull of his yellow work gloves. “It’ll only take a few minutes.”

 

         “Thanks,” she murmured. She sounded embarrassed.

 

         “You know, it took me ages to figure out why Sly always wore gloves and why he was so picky about keeping them on,” Bentley mentioned, putting pressure on the center of her palm with his thumb. Her fingers curled inward and he smoothed them back before repeating the process.

 

         “Really?”

 

         “Yeah. I don’t know if he was embarrassed, but he didn’t explain it until we were on this one mission in Denmark, if I’m remembering right. He had to pose as an ambassador, which meant he had to shake a lot of hands. We forgot to pack gloves for him.” Calia winced in sympathy, but her expression smoothed when Bentley traced horizontal lines over the segments of her fingers. “I didn’t get it at all, so I just about tore him a new one when he suggested pulling the plug. The heist had taken weeks of planning.”

 

         “What happened?”

 

         “We were successful, of course. Made off with an ninth century Viking drinking horn made from gold and mother of pearl, covered with garnet. Supposedly, whoever drank out of it would have the power and wisdom of Odin. We used it to make milkshakes.” He flipped her hand over and laced their fingers together, tugging lightly. She tugged back, smiling. “Sly came back with it and nearly dropped it handing it to me. It was like he was completely exhausted. He marched off to his room after and wouldn’t talk to me. Murray had to mediate. Eventually, I found out why he was so upset- all the hand touching by strangers. He felt violated.”

 

         Bentley paused, switching to Calia’s other hand to repeat the process.

 

         “He told me how sensitive raccoon hands are,” he continued. “It’s not a well known fact because, if word got too far, someone could take advantage of that knowledge, you know? You probably do, considering you’re a raccoon and all. Most only let people they’re reasonable close to touch their bare hands, and they typically wear gloves around the general populace, so it’s not much of an issue.”

 

         “But this time it was,” Calia sighed. Bentley peered up at her, smirking at her blissed out look and half-lidded eyes.

 

         “Exactly. Sly went out and bought a pair of snow gloves after, it was so bad. I always make sure he has something to cover his hands now, just in case.” Bentley pressed their palms together then stretched away so they were pressed fingertip to fingertip. “And I do this with him when circumstances dictate he can’t wear them.” He laced their fingers together once, squeezed, and pulled away. "There."

 

         “Where did you learn it?” Calia purred. He chuckled.

 

         “Practicing on him, mostly,” Bentley explained, jerking a thumb towards the master thief at his side.

 

         “It’s magic,” Sly sighed, propping his cheek on his fist with a grin.

 

         “It’s not magic, Sly. It’s hardly even a massage,” the genius disagreed.

 

         “I’d call it magic,” Calia hummed, looking down at her palms. “They feel like my hands again. Thanks, Bentley.”

 

         “Always happy to help. Now.” Bentley brought up his holographic keyboard. “What did El Jefe tell you?”

 

         “What didn’t he tell me?” She relayed the information, careful not to leave out any details. The turtle nodded a few times, eyes darting over his screen. Sly leaned over the table to circle a few points on the map in blue ink, jotting down a few words in elegant script.

 

         “I got that too,” the saboteur finished, nodding to untouched scroll. Bentley unfurled it, using a few rocks to keep it open. The other three leaned around him to get a good look.

 

         “Huh.” He traced a finger over the edges where old scroll met blueprint. “This is from our time; the scroll is just for appearances. It looks like schematics, but I don’t know what for.”

 

         “His Statue Fortress?” Calia wondered, pointing to the profile of a giant tiger. “He seemed pretty proud of it. Makes sense for it to be of his face.”

 

         “Ick,” Sly complained, eyes roaming the blueprint. He made a surprised noise, pointing to a white sketch in the corner. “This is Rioichi’s cane.”

 

         “El Jefe said something about delivering a package.” Calia straightened, frowning. “Maybe the package is your ancestor’s cane.”

 

         “But why? Why the cane?” Bentley rubbed his chin and eyed Sly’s cane, held loosely in the master thief’s hand. “It’s a good tool, a decent weapon… Maybe our master mind wants the Cooper Vault?” Sly shook his head.

 

         “It’s caved in, and we collected the treasure,” he reminded. “There’s nothing left to take. It’s just an abandoned island now.” The turtle hmphed, sitting back in his wheelchair.

 

         “It’s a cane… Everyone in your family has had one….” Calia’s ear twitched at the genius’s mutterings.

 

         “Every Cooper has a cane?” she asked, eyes on Sly. He nodded.

 

         “It’s one of our trademarks.”

 

         “And this person wants it…” She bent over the scroll again, thoughtful. “How many time anomalies have you guys got wind of?”

 

         “Four. Rioichi Cooper, Tennessee Kid Cooper, Sir Galleth Cooper, and Salim al Kupar,” Bentley told her.

 

         “And are their canes being taken to?” Sly frowned.

 

         “We don’t know just yet. Does it matter?”

 

         “A lot,” Calia insisted. “The cane is your symbol. By taking it, our man, is trying to erase it. The cane is part of your identity as a Cooper. He’s…” She bit her lip and blew out a breath. “The point he’s making is that he’s better than you. Than all the Coopers. He’s superior because he’s taken what’s important to you away.”

 

         Bentley glanced up at Sly, watching the raccoon rub a hand over his jaw, scowling at the sketch. Catching the gaze, the master thief smiled with cold eyes.

 

         “Sounds like something Clockwerk would do. Proving he’s the best.” He shook his head, and the chill left the room. “But he’s gone.”

 

         “Yeah, he is,” Murray muttered, barely resisting the urge to wrap his arms around his brothers.

 

         “Unless he’s the one with the time machine, which I seriously doubt, we’re looking at someone new,” Calia said quietly, brushing away the cloud of darkness hanging over them. “Someone with a history involving your family, Sly.”

 

         “Well, that _really_ narrows it down,” Sly quipped, a sarcastic lilt to his words.

 

         “I bet I could find out when we get back to the present,” the saboteur offered. “I have a feeling this all circles back to the museum. My friend Matiz sent me a very interesting couple of articles about its patron I would be happy to share.”

 

         “But until then I suggest we wrap up this operation first,” Bentley interrupted, clapping his hands once. The other three nodded. “Calia, Murray, as fancy as you guys look, I recommend changing into something more appropriate for our next job. Rioichi passed a message to Sly while you two were gone. He needs help getting the restaurant up and running again, and he needs all of us in order to do it.”

 

         “Do what exactly?” Calia asked, raising an eyebrow.

 

         Bentley grinned.

 

         “Have you ever been fishing?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bleh, I think it's kinda short. Usually my chapters are twelve or so pages in Word. Also, this is another perfect example of the characters wanting to do their own thing. -stares hard at Bentley and Calia-
> 
> But at least the wifi is reliable enough that I can update :D


	19. Before the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: suggestions of a mild anxiety attack; brief mentions of a potential non-con situation
> 
> Translations:  
> Tsuri Araiguma – the Swimming Raccoon  
> Jinriksha - rickshaw  
> Aishiteimasu – I love you
> 
> Ingredients (I used Kansha by Elizabeth Andoh and Sushi Taste and Technique by Kimiko Barber and Hiroki Takemura for reference):  
> Ma kombu – kelp  
> Nori – a type of alga; most commonly seen used in sushi  
> Aramé – a variety of kelp  
> Shiso- perilla leaves  
> Kogomi- fiddlehead fern

         “This is beautiful.” Sly’s murmur echoed around the cavern, bouncing off the domed ceiling and the blurbling pool. Light refracted off the water and spread across the walls in gorgeous patterns. The lotuses were blooming white across the pool, fish weaving through the long stems. The master thief itched to take pictures, one hand going for his binocucom out of instinct.

 

         “Save it for later, Sly,” Bentley chided, wheeling down one walkway. He pulled out a fish rod, or what might have once been a fishing rod, considering the horseshoe magnet replacing the hook. “We’ve got a job to do.”

 

         “Aw, lighten up, Bentley,” Murray threw in. He set down the armload of baskets he had brought with them from the rickshaw. “It’s been a long time since we’ve gone fishing. I’m excited!” He elbowed the turtle. “You should be, too. We haven’t gone fishing since Canada.”

 

         “I didn’t know you guys fished,” Calia mused, standing with Sada. The _kunoichi_ was examining some of the plant growth in the shallower parts of the pool. Every now and then, she would withdraw handfuls of dark _aramé,_ vibrant green _nori,_ and glossy sheets of _ma kombu_.

 

         “They do,” Sly corrected, pointing to his brothers. “I just try to avoid the flying fish. Last time, these two gave me a black eye.”

 

         “Technically, a cat fish gave you a black eye,” Bentley snickered. The master thief rolled his eyes at him, shaking his head. Calia turned a giggle into a cough, hiding a smile against her fist.

 

         “Murray- _oniisan_ is right!” Akane insisted, peeking out from behind Rioichi. She scurried down the pier to where it dipped closest to the water, setting an empty basket next to her. “Catching t’e fish is fun!” She dropped to her knees and peered into the pool, smiling as the fish swam through the clear water. She poked a ripple into its surface before looking up at Rioichi as he came to sit by her. “ _Hai_ , _Tou-san?”_

 

         “It is, _aijou_ ,” he agreed.

 

         “Can I catch t’e first fish?” she begged, clasping her hands. “Please, _Tou-san?”_

 

         “I do not see why not,” the red raccoon hummed. The kit flopped to her belly, squirming to the edge of the platform. She reached out with both hands, green eyes vivid in their concentration. She skimmed her fingertips over the surface of the water, but didn’t break it. A group of fish swam over, drawn by the motions. The kit tensed in preparation, tail snapping at the air just once.

 

         Her hand moved blindingly fast, darting into the water and retreating without creating more than a ripple. She held onto a small salmon, unconcerned as it wriggled in desperation. She stunned it with a blow to the head and tossed it into her basket with a deft hand. The other fish continued to swim, lazy and slow, oblivious to their missing companion.

 

         “That’s… really cool,” Bentley chuckled. Akane grinned, peering back at him over her shoulder.

 

         “ _Tou-san_ taught me. T’e fish t’ink t’ere are bugs on t’e water and come looking for food,” she explained. “I can catch t’e little ones; _Tou-_ san catches t’e big ones. T’ey pull me in.” She giggled. “ _Tou-san_ has had to catch me by my tail a few times.”

 

         “More t’an a few times,” the master ninja corrected with a grin. His bronze eyes flicked to the water and a bigger salmon joined Akane’s.

 

         “Ryuu- _niisan_ fell in too,” she pouted.

 

         “Every time,” Rioichi agreed. “He does now as well.”

 

         “Ryuu?” Sly asked from where he leaned sideways against a rock, watching the proceedings warily. Water had never been his thing, even water as peaceful looking as the pool.

 

         “One of her older brot’ers,” Sada explained, retrieving a few more baskets. Calia was placing a full one off to the side, where it wouldn’t be knocked over. “Kin is our firstborn. T’en we have twins, Ryuu and Takashi, and our fourth son, Shiro.”

 

         “And are they around?” Sly hedged. Plenty (so many, _too_ many) Coopers died young, and he didn’t want to cause his ancestors any pain by bringing up potentially deceased children. But the _kunoichi_ nodded, unbothered as she watched her husband and daughter fish.

 

         “Kin is twenty-one, and employed in a neighboring village as a guard for t’e geisha.” She turned wry, shooting him a sidelong glance. “Ryuu and Takashi are nineteen, fully trained in our ways. What t’ey are doing should be obvious. And Shiro just turned sixteen. He is completing his apprenticeship with a friend of ours.”

 

         Sly opened his mouth to comment when there was a fantastic splash.

 

         Bentley had caught a fish almost the size of Akane, and was struggling to swing it into his basket. His chair rolled forward, just a few inches, but a few inches was enough for his front wheel to catch the edge and send the turtle tipping forward.

 

         In hindsight, Sly decided his heart shouldn’t have seized as hard as it did. He shouldn’t have stood there, paralyzed, watching Bentley’s face go from frustrated to shocked as he started slipping. He should have moved, grabbed his friend and ripped into him for being so careless as to forget to lock his brakes.

 

         But he didn’t because he couldn’t breathe.

 

         Bentley didn’t make it more than a few centimeters underwater before Rioichi hooked him with his cane. The turtle blinked behind his glasses, clutching his fish rod, fish still attached, the only evidence of his near swim shown by his wet tires.

 

         “Careful, Bentley- _san_ ,” Rioichi cautioned as he tugged the turtle’s wheelchair back to safety. Sly let out a terse breath, putting a hand to his chest. Bronze eyes flicked to him, for half a second. “Before you give Sly- _kun_ a reason to leave t’is world.”

 

         “I’m fine,” the master thief insisted, but his voice was thin and weak, even to him. He crossed his arms over his chest in an effort to keep his heart from beating its way out of his chest, trying to look nonchalant. “Let’s remember, we have a job to do, Bentley.” He forced a chuckle. “You can go swimming later.”

 

         The turtle offered an apology, which Sly accepted with a jerky nod, dropping his gaze to the wooden platform. There was a pause, the sound of wheelchair brakes locking into place, then quiet splashes. Akane giggled at something, sweet and carefree. The master thief focused on the ambiance, measuring his breaths to ground himself.

 

         A pair of approaching feet interrupted his staring, forcing him to raise his gaze until he met a pair of bronze eyes.

 

         “Are you all right?” Rioichi murmured.

 

         “What?” Sly blinked, startled. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. I’m totally fine,” he claimed jauntily. His heart continued to thump an unsteady rhythm in disagreement. His ancestor inclined his head a fraction, features impassive as he looked back at Bentley, Murray, and Akane. Sly followed his gaze, pleased to see that nothing else had gone wrong.

 

         “You do not like t’em by the water.” Rioichi turned back to him. “Who did you lose?” Sly’s ears snapped up.

 

         “How did you…?”

 

         “I did not.” The master ninja shrugged. “But you just proved it for me. So, who did you lose?” Grumbling a little, the younger raccoon let out a sigh, taking off his hat and running his hand through his hair.

 

         “My mom when I was a kid.” He gritted his teeth against the sight of Murray almost tumbling off the platform in his excitement. “And I can’t…” He swallowed, pulling his hat back on. “I can’t swim myself.”

 

         Rioichi gave a slow blink, processing this new information. Raccoons were natural swimmers; he himself often dove for certain ingredients. To fear water to the point where that skill was lost and forgotten….

 

         He remembered it far too well.

 

         “Well, t’ere is no need for you to suffer here,” he said. “I have seen t’e way you climb. Sada will put your skills to good use,” he promised, nodding to where the blonde raccoon was standing with Calia.

 

         “Thanks,” Sly hummed, caught somewhere between relieved and chagrined at his own weakness.

 

         “No need to t’ank me.” Rioichi waved a hand. “I remember how hard it was.” Sly’s amber eyes widened a fraction, lips parting in silent question. The master ninja gave a half-smile. “Storms come wit’out warning on t’e ocean. My _tou-san_ knew its waves like no ot’er, but even he could not always be right.” The younger raccoon nodded, a new understanding and gratitude in his eyes. Rioichi bumped shoulders with him before turning away. “We will still catch plenty of fish.”

 

         “Yes!” Akane overheard him, jumping to her feet. “We will get lots, and people will come back to _Tsuri Araiguma,_ and t’en t’e tiger man will _have_ to leave!” She giggled, all childish innocence and joy. “And everyt’ing will be good again.”

 

         “Yes, _aijou_ ,” Rioichi agreed, deep voice soft and slow and maybe just a little melancholy. “It will be good again.”

 

         The mention of El Jefe was a fleeting but sharp reminder of why they were in the fishing caverns. Once they completed their task of restocking the restaurant, their final task would be to face El Jefe himself.

 

         Sly would have been lying if he said he wasn’t looking forward to clocking the mercenary between the eyes.

 

         “No falling in, ok?” he teased, trying to keep the strained note of concern out of his voice as he walked to the mouth of the cavern to stand by Calia. Murray snapped him a salute and Bentley nodded.

 

         “Promise!” the turtle told him, wiggling his immobile chair for emphasis.

 

         “You too, Akane. Be careful,” Sada added. “But I put some blankets in t’e _jinriksha,_ just in case.”

 

         “I am grown now, _Kaa-san_ ,” Akane assured, drawing herself up, hands on her hips. “I will not fall in.”

 

         A flicker passed over Sada’s jade eyes and disappeared in the same second. Had Rioichi not be looking for it, waiting for it, he would have missed it altogether.

 

         Prowling along the pier, avoiding the creaky planks, he came up just behind her and tapped her on one shoulder.

 

         “Sada.” She turned and stiffened when she was met with an unexpected kiss, tail giving a surprised flick. Rioichi smirked against her lips and pulled away, the picture of innocence. “ _Aishiteimasu.”_ Her cheeks flushed and she couldn’t stop from smiling. Curse her husband for making her feel like a lovesick child so easily. “Be safe.”

 

         "Rioichi, we are not launching ourselves into battle," she huffed.

 

         "I know." He kissed her again. "But, be safe, all the same."

 

         Waiting at the mouth of the cavern, Sly elbowed Calia as she muffled an “aww” into her palms. She shook her head at him, shoving at him.

 

         “They’re adorable and you can’t tell me otherwise,” she declared, feigning a believable nonchalance when Sada walked over.

 

         “So, where are we going?” she chirped. The _kunoichi_ waved them on, her steps light, her blonde fur shining in the torchlight.

 

         Leaving his friends and red-furred ancestors behind, Sly followed Sada and Calia back out the way they had come in, down a long path passed a few swarms of Mammoth Fireflies before arriving in the main cavern. The master thief let out a breath, tense set of his shoulders easing. Calia looked to Sada, who had toed off her sandals.

 

         “Ok,” the saboteur hummed. “What do we need to do here?”

 

         “My husband can make a fine meal of fish, but it was not all we serve at our restaurant,” the _kunoichi_ explained. “T’ere are plants I need to gat’er here.”

 

         “Which ones?” Calia asked, bending to inspect the foliage. Sada chuckled and pointed towards the ceiling.

 

         “T’e ones up t’ere.”

 

         “…Well all right then.” Sly tugged his hat more firmly on his head. “You know this place the best, Sada. How should we get up there?”

 

         “I will show you how I do it.” Slinging her basket over her back, the _kunoichi_ approached the wall, running her palms over the stone. “I try not to use t’e lower vines. T’ey may look strong, but t’ey can tear away from t’e walls wit’out warning.” She fit her fingertips into an invisible crack in the statues and pulled herself up with a quiet huff. She slid her bare foot across the wall, the pads rasping against the stone, until she found a suitable foothold and pushed up, reaching for another handhold. Sly watched, mesmerized, as she scaled a good twenty feet of what had once appeared to be sheer wall.

 

         “Now comes t’e fun part,” she grinned, looking down at them over her shoulder. She flipped her back to the stone, bent her knees to her chest, and leapt in a blur of green and gold.

 

         One jump. She pressed against the rock, pushing off. Two jumps. Sly needed to ask Rioichi if Sada had been the one to help him with his Dragon Leap. Three jumps. Her jade-eyed gaze focused on the flat top of the statue and she lunged for it, landing without a skid. She brushed the fine rock powder from her sleeves and walked to the edge, peering down at him.

 

         “That was amazing!” He was fanboying again.

 

         “You did that in like five seconds!” Calia chimed. At least Sly wasn’t the only one impressed.

 

         “I used to be quicker,” Sada admitted, rolling her shoulders. “But I am not as young as I once was.”

 

         “Still amazing,” the two insisted in the same breath. Sada laughed her thanks, moving to the wall.

 

         “Well, now it is your turn.” She tugged a vine, greenish brown and as thick as her wrist, free from the stone and lowered it down. “Climb up. We have much work to do.”

 

         The other two did as they were told, Sly following Calia. Sada helped them up and then clapped her hands together, looking pleased.

 

         “Now, t’at we are all here, I can show you what we need.” She bent to the foliage growing against the wall, gesturing the other two closer. “T’is is _shiso.”_ She pointed out a spiky leaf. “And t’is is _kogomi_.”

 

         “We call it perilla leaf,” Calia told her, nodding to the leaf. Sly cocked his head at the greenery.

 

         “I know the other one is fiddlehead fern,” he added.

 

         “It is good you are familiar with t’em,” the _kunoichi_ hummed, straightening. “We will need t’em, and t’ese.” She showed them a few more ingredients, including several cabbage-like plants, kudzu vine, a variety of roots, and a cluster of tiny white mushrooms she called _enokitake._

 

         “Gat’er enough to fill t’e baskets, but leave enough to grow back,” she warned. They nodded. “Good. T’en I will take care of t’e _Ibara no Kabe Noboru.”_

 

         “…The what?” Sly asked, cocking his head. Exchanging a look with Calia only revealed an equally mystified expression. Sada smiled and pointed behind them.

 

         “T’e Spiky Wall Climber.”

 

         At first glance, the supposed plant was nothing more than a mass of dark magenta, encased in thorns as thick as Sly’s wrist. Purple-black tendrils kept it adhered to the wall, branching out and coiling around the stone. Then it _moved_ , unfurling four petals and revealing a fleshy maw of brilliant pink. Within it was a fist-sized pod, pulsing like a heart.

 

         “Bentley- _san_ said we need it to subdue t’e guards,” the _kunoichi_ reminded them, pulling a long knife from her belt. “One prick with its spikes or a drop of its nectar will send you into a deep sleep.” She jumped to another platform. “It will not take me long.”

 

         The two watched Sada approach the plant like it was a scared animal, every step measured. The main pod shifted, tracking her movements, leaves rustling in warning.

 

         A tendril shot out and Sada jumped, stomping on it with her boot and keeping it pinned. While it struggled, she walked forward, balancing on the fleshy vine like a tightrope. When she got close enough, she sliced forward, carving a plump, fuchsia colored pod from the plants innards. She leapt away a second later, and the plant curled in on itself, thorns weeping magenta liquid and petals folding.

 

         “You okay?” Sly called, tail giving a fretful swish. The whole ordeal had happened in a few second, a rapid dance.

 

         “I am well,” Sada assured him, dropping the pink husk into a pouch tied to her waist. “T’is is harmless for now, but I will not be able to gat’er more seeds with it closed as it is.”

 

         They set about gathering the other plants, filling their baskets with greens, mushrooms, beans, vegetables, and roots. They dug up a _wasabi_ root at one point, the pungent smell forcing Calia to flee to a different platform. Sly took it to the ground level to give her watering eyes a rest.

 

         The new arrangement left her side by side with Sada, on the same platform. Rubbing her eyes, Calia thought back to the previous night, biting her lip. The other raccoon noticed and turned to her, raising an eyebrow.

 

         “Is somet’ing wrong, Calia- _chan?_ Are your eyes still bot’ering you?”

 

         “No, they’re fine. I just…” She sighed. “I was rude the other day, and I’m sorry for it. I really need to work on not being so prideful.” She pulled the _kakute_ out of her pocket. “This thing saved my tail from a-” _the taste of cigar in her mouth, her hands numb and too responsive, the air breezing through her torn clothes,_ “situation I’m really glad to have avoided. Thank you for making me take it.” She held it out. Sada’s jade eyes slipped from her face to the ring, a faint smile crossing her lips.

 

         “Apology accepted,” she murmured, picking up the ring from Calia’s palm. She turned it over a few times, tracing her fingertips over the carved wood, before handing it back. “Keep it, please. If it served you so well, I do not doubt it will do so again.” She paused, jade eyes crinkling. “You remind me very much of myself, Calia.”

 

         “Thank you,” the saboteur replied, smiling. “That’s a high compliment.” Sada chuckled and shook her head, and they enjoyed a few moments of silence.

 

         “Akane looks really cute in what she’s wearing today,” Calia commented after a while. She wasn’t much for complete silence. “Like a mini-you.” Instead of wearing a _kimono_ , the kit had arrived at the hideout wearing a smaller rendition of her parents’ clothing. Her tunic was darker blue than Rioichi’s, her undershirt black, with a grey sash around her waist. The saboteur thought she had looked adorable, but, to her surprise, Sada’s answering smile was frosty. Her jade eyes went dark, slipping off to one side.

 

         “Yes, I suppose she does.” Her voice was light, but she yanked at the plant savagely. The saboteur’s eyes flicked from the _kunoichi’s_ face to her hands, to the rigid set of her shoulders.

 

         “…Did I… say something wrong?”

 

         “Not’ing I do not already know,” Sada replied, a cold edge to her voice. After a moment, her movements slowed a little. “I am sorry; I did not mean to snap.” She waved a hand, letting out a terse breath. “My daughter has grown up while I was away.”

 

         “Children have a tendency of doing that.” Calia fiddled with a few leaves. “Growing up when you aren’t looking.”

 

         “Do you have children, Calia- _chan?”_ The saboteur shook her head.

 

         “I just turned twenty-three. I’m barely out of the ‘too young to have kids’ zone for-” catching her near slip, she adjusted, “where I come from.”

 

         “From the future?” Calia’s tail gave a sharp whisk at Sada’s comment, her blue eyes going wide.

 

         “How did you-?”

 

         “I may or may not have bullied my husband into telling me who you and your companions are,” the kunoichi hummed. She inspected some leaves, tsked at their condition, and let them be. “I cannot begin to tell you how grateful I am for helping us. If it were not for you and t'e ot'ers, Rioichi would still be in a cage, I would still be with t’e tiger, and Akane… Akane would be….” She stopped, sitting back on her heels.

 

         Where would the child be? Homeless, for one, forced to live in a cave, away from all she had ever known. Would she have starved before her brothers came for her? Probably not, having been raised in the restaurant. But would her brothers try to fight? What could they do when their parents had failed to defeat this latest threat? They would try though. And they would be captured, caged, and killed.

 

         And Akane would be alone again.

 

         Sada knew this, knew this like she was staring down the path her family had almost taken. Short, full of suffering, everything happening too fast. It was her nightmare, the very nightmare that had forced her from her bed to daughter’s room to make sure the kit was all right. She had stayed there until the sun had set, then slipped back into her own bed for a few hours of rest. Her husband’s arms had been just a fraction too tight to convince her he hadn’t been awake as well.

 

         “Sada?” Calia touched her arm. The _kunoichi_ jerked, breath catching in her throat- an almost sob.

 

         “I apologize, I am…” She let out a soft noise, tugging her _kabuki_ mask over her face from where it had been pushed up like a headband. It was a poor shield, but a shield nonetheless. “I just need a moment to gat’er myself.

 

         How close her family had been to destruction…. She shivered, and didn’t pull away when an arm wrapped around her, a cheek resting against her shoulder. She hardly even twitched when there was another weight against her other side, larger and warmer. Her hand found a knee and squeezed. A palm covered hers.

 

         “T’ank you for protecting our family when I could not,” she whispered. She felt rather than saw Sly nod, squeezing his fingers in return.

 

         “They’re okay,” he murmured. “And they’re going to _be_ ok. I promise.” A shaky laugh escaped Sada’s mouth, and when she bit her lip, they were already curved up in a small smile.

 

         “If you make promises like my husband does, t’en I should believe you,” she murmured. “I should believe you…” A few tears escaped from under her mask, following the curve of her muzzle and chin. They broke off, landing in her lap. She gritted her teeth and swallowed passed the knot in her throat. “And I should get up,” she added, shifting, pushing her mask back. “I still need to get t’e ot’er seed and-”

 

         “Let us take care of it,” Calia insisted, head popping off the _kunoichi’s_ shoulder. “You just sit tight for a few minutes.”

 

         “No, no, I cannot rest, t’ere is much to be done and-”

 

         “There’s always a few minutes to take a breather,” Sly interrupted. Squeezing her palm, he stood, tapping the end of his cane against the ground. “You ready?” he asked, stretching a hand on to Calia. She grinned and took it.

 

         “Let’s do this.”

 

         The Spiky Wall thing was awake and ready for Round Two, equipped with three extra vines. Sly dodged, wincing as one cracked through the air like a thorny whip, before managing to get it under his feet. A glance at Calia revealed her standing on two vines, reaching into her belt for something.

 

         “Get the pod!” Calia ordered, tossing a closed pocketknife to him. He flicked it open, balancing along the third vine. Reaching into the petals, he yanked out the seed, severing its attachments with a clean stroke. The plant twisted in response, sealing its petals as he snatched his hand back. The vines yanked themselves free, and Sly reached out for Calia out of reflex when she stumbled, off balance. He could feel her warmth against his forearm as he caught her waist, a mixture of exertion and the humidity of the caves. Her fingers pressed against his chest, just under his heart. She steadied herself and stepped away, offering her thanks. He nodded, choosing to ignore the slight tingle of his skin.

 

         They returned to the platform where Sada stood, triumphant. Sly presented her with the seedpod, pleased when she laughed.

 

         “You two make a good team,” she praised, a hint of nostalgia in her voice. She dropped the seed into the back and tied it off. “I believe we are done here. T’ank you for your help.” She gave a shallow bow, a strand of her hair falling into her eyes. “All of it.”

 

         “Happy to be of service,” Sly replied.

 

         “And it looks like we aren’t the only ones to finish.” The two Coopers turned as Calia nodded down to one of the paths, where the rattle of wooden wheels could be heard. They climbed down from the platforms, waiting for the others to arrive. Within the minute, Bentley was entering the room with Murray close behind. The hippo pulled the fish-laden rickshaw behind him, whistling a pleased tune. Rioichi came after him, followed by….

 

         “I think she tried to catch a tuna,” Calia whispered to Sly.

 

         Akane was sopping wet, her clothes clinging to her body, her fur matted down. She squished with each step, sticking her tongue out as she glanced at her feet.

 

         “You okay, kit?” Sly wondered, fighting a laughed. The girl blinked at him, dripping a puddle over the ground.

 

         “I fell in.” Rioichi shook his head, his bronze eyes warm and fond. And Sada… a quiet, private expression had stolen over her features. It was something like resignation and a keen sort of patience.

 

         Her kit was growing up, yes, but she was there to witness every moment of it.

 

         “Oh, _aijou_.” She smoothed Akane’s red hair off her forehead. “Did you catch a tuna?” Akane let out a dispirited huff.

 

         “I tried, but it got away.” She shook her head, eyes blazing. “Next time, _Kaa-san_ , next time I will catch it.” Sada kissed the top of her head.

 

         “You will be strong enough one day. I know you will.”

 

         Sly watched the scene with a tender look. Rioichi picked up one of the pre-packed blankets and bundled his daughter in it, chuckling as she twisted herself up in it. Sada picked her up, and the kit snuggled into her mother’s warmth, purring in delight when her father joined them to press against her back.

 

         His thoughts flicked to El Jefe, pondering over his efforts to steal Rioichi’s cane, stewing over how the tiger wanted to make his ancestors suffer. The mercenary and his whole operation loomed over them like a storm rolling over the horizon, an ever-present threat.

 

         Well, he wouldn’t be a threat for much longer.

 

         There would be a next time for Akane and her family. Sly would make sure of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So I completely rewrote it and have decided that handling the spatial placement of characters is awful, but I am much, much, MUCH happier with how this turned out. The first time I wrote it, this chapter was awful.  
> On a side note, I think it passes the Bechdel Test :D.


	20. Missing Something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: suggested violence
> 
> Translations:  
> Washi- paper  
> Hanase- let me go
> 
> A/N: Feeling kind of “eh” about this chapter. It took me way longer than it should have and I’m still not completely satisfied. I don’t know maybe I’m just done with the Turning Japanese arc. –rubs face tiredly- I feel liking I’m telling and not showing. I’ve had other fandoms on the brain recently, specifically one with a triangle who is quickly losing patience with me for not writing anything for him.

* * *

 

         The restaurant was quieter now that it was empty.

 

         Akane paused in her sweeping, looking around. The kitchen felt bigger without all the people in it, but she missed the bustle and the chatter. The hush that had fallen was too heavy, stifling her with its presence. At least the smell of cooked food lingered: clean fish and vegetables and rice. She started her chore again, careful not to let her dry clothes drag in the dust, remembering the reward waiting for her on the table.

 

         Once the floor was clean, the dust emptied outside, she snatched the plate of _onigiri_ from its place. It was packed with tuna, one of her favorite fillings, and she wasted no time tearing into it. A pleased purr rumbled in her throat; it didn’t matter what her father made, it was always delicious.

 

         Her father had made some for the others too, despite their protests. The kit giggled, remembering how Sly had ducked his head and offered his thanks in a small but sincere voice. He had left nearly an hour ago, taking Murray, Bentley, and Calia with him. Just before they had gone, there had been lots of talking, talking she wasn’t allowed to hear. More planning for the task to come: ridding the village of the tiger.

 

         Akane shook her head and took another bite of _onigiri,_ chewing thoughtfully. She had listened from the top of the stairs anyway, hidden behind the wall. She hadn’t made anything out aside from the tones. It had all be very matter-of-fact, like when Mama explained a new recipe to her. Then there had been quiet words, silence, and anger. Burning anger that ate at her curiosity until she had peeked around the wall to see her mother’s jade eyes flare with fire as they stared at Bentley.

 

         Fire and fear.

 

         The rice and fish in her mouth turned pasty, and she fought to swallow around it. Shaking her head, she wrapped up the snack and set it off to the side for later before heading up the stairs. Both her parents had gone up- her father to sleep and her mother to work on something else. The kit sought her mother out first, heading down the hall and pushing open the door to the common area.

 

         Her mother was kneeling on a _tatami_ mat, her feet tucked under her as she polished the blade of a _kunai,_ tail coiled around her. A lantern cast a warm glow over her light fur, melting the lines between white and blonde. Her hair was down, her butterfly comb keeping loose strands out of her face. She was wearing a comfortable _yukata_ , her pants and tunic folded neatly to one side with her mask and her chest band.

 

         And in front of her was an impressive array of weapons. Knives as long as Akane’s arm, others no bigger than her index finger. A stack of gleaming _shuriken_ , their edges wickedly sharp. A short sword that went into the sheath on her father’s back. Needles as thin and delicate as reeds, their tips wet with some toxin. Her father’s canes lay among them, next to the _neko-te_ that would adorn her mother’s slim fingers.

 

         The kit paused at the entryway, admiring the contrast of her mother’s simple beauty and the arsenal laid out before her. Sada noticed her, looking up with a smile.

 

         “Did you finish sweeping, _aijou?”_ she asked. Akane nodded, mesmerized by the gleam of metal, flashing under a polishing cloth.

 

         She wandered closer, watching her mother work, listening to her hum. Stopping by the pile of folded clothes, she reached out and traced the green and gold accents of the black mask with a fingertip, head cocked. It stared up at her, significantly less interesting without her mother’s eyes to gleam out from behind it.

 

         “Can I try it on?” she asked, holding it up. Her mother’s steady swipes faltered as she looked up, gaze landing on the mask. She nodded before resuming her work.

 

         “Go ahead, _aijou.”_ Akane pressed the smooth wood to her face, matching it to her eyes. Her breath echoed oddly in the confined space, fanning back against her nose and mouth. She recoiled a little, shaking her head and setting the mask back down.

 

         “Can I go see Papa?”

 

         “So long as you don’t wake him.” Akane skipped out of the room, calling a quiet “I won’t” over her shoulder.

 

         Her parents’ room was something of a haven for the girl. She had spent to early years of her life in there with them, as had her brothers. The sliding door creaked a familiar note. The faint smell of silk, flowers, and something uniquely belonging to her parents filled the room, familiar shadows taking shape in the dim light: the low desk in the corner, the dresser with its pitcher and wash basin, the frame of the mattress, set low to the ground.

 

         Her father was asleep, his chest rising and falling with silent breaths. His hair was undone, the long strands spread over the pillow in ribbons of auburn. Akane crept closer, sweeping a few strands out of his eyes to kiss his forehead. Maybe it had been the light, but she thought she saw him smile.

 

         She moved away, remembering her promise to her mother. A gleam of gold caught her eye, coming from the low desk pressed up against the wall. A tingle rushed along her fingers, her tail swishing and ears lifting.

 

         Glancing at her father, she crept over to the table. The gold flickered a little brighter, blending with blue and dark brown leather. Ragged edges of parchment and something called “papyrus” peeked out from the covers, the neater placement of _washi_ behind it. An ink tray, its brush cleaned and set to one side, sat next to the thick book, waiting to be used again.

 

         Akane ran her fingers over the cover, tracing the stylized raccoon face and the title.

 

         The _Thievius Raccoonus._

 

         Akane had seen her father write in its pages only a handful of times. It was always with careful precision, the strokes of his brush forming words and detailed pictures for others to read. Kin had read it and written in it, as had Ryuu and Takashi. Shiro, she knew, had read but had yet to write. He would get his turn when he came home from his training.

 

         She ran her fingers over the soft leather cover again. A shiver rolled up her spine.

 

         Maybe she would get to write in it too.

 

         “Akane.” She twitched, head snapping around, snatching her hand back. Her father was awake, his bronze eyes half-open. Or still half-closed. She bit her lip, pushing to her feet.

 

         “I was just looking, Papa,” she promised.

 

         “It is yours to look at,” her father replied, stifling a yawn. “Yours to read, as well, once I teach you how.” He rubbed the heel of his hand into his eyes, sweeping his fingers back into his hair. Akane walked over to him, head low, tail dragging across the floor.

 

         “Did I wake you?” she mumbled, guilt creeping around her belly. He shook his head.

 

         “No, _aijou_. You can’t wake up someone who was never asleep,” he added with a chuckle. It didn’t make her feel any better. She shuffled her feet, twisting her fingers behind her back. Her father gave a chuckle, low and quiet. “Would you like to join me?” He had hardly lifted the blankets before she dove under them, wriggling until she was huddled in a little ball against his side. His fur, the same red as hers, smelled like home. She nuzzled into it until her head was tucked against his throat.

 

         “Why aren’t you sleeping, Papa?”

 

         “I have too many thoughts,” he admitted, lifting a hand to cup the back of her head. She nodded, listening to him sigh, long and heavy, like it had come from his toes. “Where is your mother?”

 

         “Cleaning her knives and your cane,” she answered. “For later.” The older raccoon nodded, his chin nudging between his daughter’s ears. She folded them a little, peering up at him with round jade eyes. She heaved a sigh of her own, but it didn’t sound as impressive as his. “I want to come with you and Mama.”

 

         “What?” She saw his tail shift out of the corner of her eye, resettling under the blankets a second later.

 

         “I want to go with you,” she repeated. “To get rid of the tiger-man.” She frowned. “El Jefe.” The word felt thick in her mouth and she huffed it out in distaste. He watched her, silent, bronze eyes guarded like armor.

 

         “Why?” She shrugged. He let out a low hum. “Do you think you could protect your mother and me?” he wondered, stroking her hair. The kit’s brow furrowed and she looked away.

 

         She couldn’t protect her parents, not like they protected her. No fantasy or wishing or begging the spirits would change that. She let out a shuddery breath and shook her head.

 

         “Are you afraid of being alone, Akane?”

 

         She knew he meant alone as in by herself in their home, but it was not her biggest fear.

 

         She wiggled deeper under the covers until her nose was level with her father’s heart. She pressed her cheek against it, closing her eyes against the rest of the world. There was only darkness and warmth and the smell of red fur and sea salt. Here she was safe and untouchable.

 

         The passed weeks led to a single realization, one that had shaken her to some untouched and unknown core.

 

         Her parents were not immortal. They could get hurt like any other person, cry and bleed and hurt without a single mark to show for it on their skin. They were not untouchable.

 

         She knew they could die, but to admit such a thing felt like revealing too much, too secretive. She wanted to hide the fact away where no one would find it, because, if no one knew, then maybe it would never happen.

 

         She bit her lip and risked a nod.

 

         “But I’m … I’m a Cooper,” she declared, voice wavering a little. She picked up a strand of her father’s hair and started braiding it, giving her nervous fingers something to do. “And I want to help protect our family.” She lifted herself to one arm, the covers lifting to let the cold in. “I know I can’t, Papa, but I want to learn. And I have to do _something._ ” She finished the braid flopped back down, letting the blankets cover her again. “I _want_ to do something.”

 

         When she glanced up, her father’s eyes were full of understanding.

 

         “You will get the chance. Very soon,” he murmured. Her ears flickered in surprise, but he continued before she could as what he meant. “But you must be well rested for it.” He kissed her forehead. “I may not be able to sleep, _aijou,_ but you should.” He tucked the covers around her, and she obediently closed her eyes.

 

         The kit knew what he meant now by too many thoughts.

 

         She couldn’t stop thinking about her name after her announcement. Cooper. It was so simple. To many people of the village, it was downright strange, hard to pronounce, and foreign. But no one mocked it.

 

         Cooper.

 

         It had always been her name, but it felt… heavier now, draping across her shoulders like a blanket weighted with chains. A comfort and a curse. To bear the name Cooper was to wield power and understand suffering. It was pride tempered by loss and grief. She sighed again, and it sounded deeper and heavier than before.

 

         She slipped into a doze, lulled into a state between waking and dreaming by the sound of rain and her father’s warmth. She woke up at one point, when a third body entered the bed. She made room for her mother, sighing in contentment when an arm wrapped around her.

 

         When she opened her eyes again, the room was lighter. A hand was combing through her hair and her front was cold. Lifting her head, her bleary eyes made out the red and blue form of her father, kneeling at his desk. He turned to her with a smile, tucking a blotting page into the _Thievius Raccoonus_ before standing. His hair had been pulled back once more, but her small braid was still in place. She smiled back.

 

         “Let’s get ready,” her mother whispered into her hair, kissing her temple. She slipped out from the covers, pulling her butterfly comb out of her hair. “We are going to meet the others.”

 

         “All of us, Mama?” Akane wondered, the blankets caught over her head like an oversized cloak. Her mother’s smile was small but genuine.

 

         “Yes, _aijou._ All of us.” The kit huddled back down, excitement and fear making her fur prickle. She squeezed her eyes shut, storing the memory away: the lingering heat of her parents’ bodies, the smell of the blankets, the murmur of familiar voices, the sound of the rain.

 

         Her eyes popped open in surprise and she sat up. The blankets fell away, the cool of the air taking their place.

 

         “It stopped raining.”

 

**~***~**

 

 

         The Dragon Gates closed with a final, heavy thump, barring the village from entry once more. A stone pathway, carved straight from the cliff sides and decorated with ornate statues, led toward El Jefe’s fortress, weaving over the foggy space between the mountains.

 

         The brilliant red of the outer walls was bold against the gray and green, the polished gold ornamentations gleaming in the dawn light. It was impressive, its spires stabbing into the sky, a fifty-foot tiger statue looming at its foggy center.

 

         Calia wrinkled her nose at the display, turning her gaze to the bridge leading to the fortress. It was sturdy and wide and almost completely exposed. Crossing it would be like waving targets, and she had no doubt that there were eyes watching.

 

         The ground gave a sudden rumble, the low thrum of an engine filling the air. An unnatural wind cut through the fog as a great shape rose up from beneath the cliffs, climbing higher and higher until it surpassed the statue.

 

         “ _Tou-san_ , what is it?” Akane whispered, ducking behind her father’s legs. Rioichi shook his head, exchanging looks with Sada.

 

         “It’s called a blimp. It’s how I got here,” Calia murmured, watching the craft rise into the air. It began to circle the fortress, leisurely, like it was waiting for something.

 

         Her mind went to the drawing of Rioichi’s cane they had stolen from El Jefe, her eyes flicking to the carved tool the red raccoon was holding.

 

         “It really does have my time machine on it.” She glanced at Bentley, who stared at the vessel in consternation. “It’s different though…” He pointed to the network of pipes lacing the blimp’s outsides. “The calibration units, they’re drawing way more power than the piece I have on the van. I bet it doesn’t even have to use an artifact to set the correct time.” He shook his head. “But it’s _way_ riskier, and not just because it’s noticeable. Something like this would-”

 

         “We can talk science later,” Sly interrupted, stepping forward. He dropped a hand to the turtle’s shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Let’s finish the job here first. Calia.” The saboteur nodded, adjusting her hood and face mask. “You know what to do.”

 

         “On it.” She stepped away with a wave, gathering her thoughts. She imagined the color of her body blending with the world around her, edges fading and blending, dissolving into one picture. She was not an addition but a part of it. She was smoke, then fog, then mist, then…

 

         “She is gone!” Akane squeaked. Calia allowed herself a private smile before moving away, boots silent on the stone. She stepped lightly onto the bridge, eyes scanning from left to right. A shadow passed over her, revealing the blimp looming overhead, hovering. She squinted at the cockpit, making out a dark figure and a long, thick tail, watching the proceedings with glinting eyes. Unable to glean anymore details, she continued along the bridge.

 

         El Jefe was waiting at the entrance to the fortress, arms crossed over his chest, a cigar tucked into the corner of his mouth. She wrinkled her nose as she passed him, watching his ears flick and avoiding his tail. He was expecting them, so why was the portcullises raised and the doors wide open?

 

         She passed through them, tail fluffing. A troop of rats lined the walls, waiting for some signal to bringing them swarming to the bridge. Calia bit back an annoyed sound, scaling a pillar. One of the rats turned but she was already on the roofs, staring down at the scene in distaste as she lifted her binocucom. The screen flickered to life, revealing a small video feed of Bentley, waiting for her intel.

 

         “There are two bridges, both equipped with gates. El Jefe’s waiting for you at the end of the second,” she informed him. “Using himself as bait. My guess it that he's going to box you in by closing the first and second gates, keeping on the second bridge. There are about thirty troopers just behind the main doors, ready for an ambush. Small, equipped with present-day gear: smoke grenades, some kind of rifle, gas tanks attached. They’re decked out in gas masks and hazmat suits, so whatever they have is probably toxic.”

 

         _“Thanks, Calia. We’ll take it from here,”_ Bentley replied. _“We’ll see you at the safe house once this is all over.”_

 

“If I’m not back in an hour, don’t wait up,” she answered before shutting down the comm. She rubbed her hands together, scanning the windows. “Now, if I were the main tech room, I would be right over…” An electric glow caught her eye. “There.”

 

 

 

**~***~**

 

 

         “Calia says we’ve got in-coming bogeys,” Bentley reported, shutting down his binocucom. “No more than thirty. Our man is waiting at the end of the bridge.” He looked to Akane, who met his gaze but held onto her mother’s hand with both of her own. “You ready, kit?” The girl nodded, biting her lip. The turtle cracked a smile, thoughts drifting to a museum in Cairo and failed codenames. “I was nervous on my first mission too. But you’re gonna do just fine, because you’ll be with your dad and we’ll all be here for back up.”

 

         “I know,” Akane croaked, adopting a determined face. “I can do it.” Bentley nodded.

 

         “Whenever you’re ready.”

 

         Her mother leaned down, holding her for a long moment. Akane listened to her heart beat under her ear, felt the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. The kit pressed her face into her mother’s golden fur, inhaling the familiar scent.

 

         “It is time to go.” Akane twitched a little, resisting the urge to cling to her mother and never let go as she was set on her father’s back. “ _Otousan_ will keep you safe,” Sada promised, kissing the kit’s brow.

 

         “I know, _Kaa-san.”_ The girl pressed closer to her father, tiny hands gripping the blue of his tunic. The _kunoichi_ mustered a smile that lifted only one corner of her mouth before turning her jade eyes on her husband.

 

         “You be safe as well,” she whispered. He chuckled, leaning forward to kiss her.

 

         “When am I not safe, _aisai?”_ At her dry look, he touched his forehead to hers. “I will protect her as long as I can. I give you my word.” Sada nodded. Rioichi peered back at Akane, touching one of her hands. “Hold on tightly.”

 

         The kit couldn’t stop herself from gasping as her father jumped over the side of the bridge, holding for barely a second to nod to Sly- _oniisan_ before letting go. Her stomach jumped into her throat, the cold wind rushing passed her ears and making her eyes water. For a moment, she was flying.

 

         Her father landed in a low crouch, and she felt the shock travel through his lean body and into her teeth. The stillness of his body lasted only a moment before he leapt away, the green of solid land giving way to nothing. She ducked her head down, feeling the wind grasp at the loose ends of her hair, blowing cold into her fur.

 

         “All right, _aijou?”_ She risked a peek, glancing around. Her father was balanced on a point only a little bigger than her _temari_ ball, a chasm yawning beneath them. She stared, wide eyed, even as a thrill shot through her entire body, from ears and fingertips to tail and toes. She shivered, afraid of everything and fearing nothing all at once. She went to nod and the ropes strung between the arches creaked a warning. A large hand covered hers. “It’s all right, Akane. Close yours eyes if you have to.” And he was off again, from one lantern to the next. Several times, she thought the ropes would snap under his weight and they would hurtle into nothing. Then the swirling fog turned back into green and grey, and she was sliding down her father’s back to land on solid ground. It was cold under her tail and cold on her palms, but she thrust her fingers through grass and root to grip dirt. She thought the wind was still rushing around them until she realized it was her, breathing, gulping down air like she would never have enough.

 

         “Akane?” Her father helped her into her feet and she staggered, stumbling against his leg for support. Her head buzzed and her hands were numb and shaking, her whole body was shaking, and her ears were up and her tail was bristled. Every breath was like inhaling fire and every color was bright and every beat of her heart had a purpose.

 

         “We were _flying_ ,” she whispered, reverence in her voice. “ _You_ were flying.” She sought him out with desperation, jade eyes wide, mouth a small ‘o.’ “Will you teach me to fly, _Tou-san?”_ She stuttered in her excitement, panting through her words. “I want to know how to fly.”

 

         Her father stared at her for a long moment, like he was seeing her for the first time. She grinned at him, still clutching his leg for support. His hand dropped between her ears, a warm familiar weight on the top of her head.

 

         “I will teach you how to fly, _aijou_ ,” he murmured. “But first, you have to open t’is cage.”

 

         The kit jolted at the reminder, turning toward the iron gate. She was going to lift it, she had to lift it but…

 

         Her euphoria faded. She felt very small and weak, clinging to her father for support. She let go of him and managed a few steps forward, putting a hand on the cold metal. She tried to push on it.

 

         It was too heavy.

 

         “No one would fault you if you want to turn back, Akane,” her father murmured, kneeling in front of her. “You do not have to do t’is.”

 

         It would have been easy to give in to her fears. It would have been all too simple to jump back into her father’s arms and beg him to take her home. She would have curled in a ball on her parents’ bed and waited for them to return in the silent restaurant, counting her breaths and listening to the frantic beats of her heart.

 

         Akane met his bronze eyes with her jade and blinked once.

 

         “Yes, _Tou-san_ , I do.” His gaze widened before going infinitely soft, warming with a deep sense of pride. She drew herself up in response, nodding once. “I will meet you on the other side.”

 

         “I believe in you, _aijou_ ,” he answered in a whisper. “Do you remember what to do?”

 

         “I have to get passed t’e gate,” she told him, remembering what Sly had explained to her in a calm, careful voice. “And t’en come up above. T’ere will be a big wheel, with poles sticking out. I have to spin t’em so t’e gate opens up.”

 

         “Good, _aijou_.” He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, his low purring audible. “As soon as you open t’e gates, your _okaasan_ and I will be right t’ere.”

 

         _“Hai,”_ she chirped, throwing her arms around his neck in a quick hug before pulling away. She reached up to the bars, hands first, ducking her head and twisting her shoulders so they fit. She nearly got stuck, wincing as the metal dug into her back.

 

         Then there were hands on her feet, guiding her forward, and she was tumbling through in a somersault on the other side.

 

         She risked a glance back, just one. Her father lingered, toying with the braid she had made for him. She caught one last gleam of his bronze eyes, crinkling at the corners as he smiled.

 

         Akane nodded in return and reached for the rope.

 

         She may not have known how to fly, but she knew how to climb.

 

 

**~***~**

 

 

         The fight was in its death throes by the time Rioichi made it back to the bridge. He dodged a rat, thrown by none other than Murray. Bentley was a dart of green and silver, planting what appeared to be tiny lanterns with blinking red lights on unsuspecting foes. Sly was more like a ghost- solid and real one moment, then disappearing, then just a wink of dark blue out of the corner of his eye.

 

         And Sada was-

 

         _“Rioichi!”_ He turned at the call, swinging his cane at his attacker. A rat squealed in surprise as he was knocked straight over the bridge, hurtling into the mist below. A moment later, a foot touched down on his shoulder, using it as leverage. Sada planted her boot into one of the rat trooper’s masks, the glass lenses shattering, the strange muzzle collapsing in on itself.

 

         “Akane made it t’rough,” he told her when she landed. “She was so brave, Sada. You would have been so proud.”

 

         “I already am. Now we just have to retrieve her.” She glanced around, jade eyes flashing through her mask. “Our battle is already over?”

 

         “You sound disappointed, _aisai,”_ he chuckled. She elbowed him, then wrapped an arm around his torso, drawing him closer.

 

         “I am a little.”

 

         “Well, that’s everyone.” They turned at their young descendant’s voice, Sada using the opportunity to let her hand slide down her husband’s back, prolonging their contact. Sly beamed at them, rolling his shoulders, somewhat tousled but otherwise unaffected by the skirmish. “Everybody ok?”

 

         “We’re _awesome!”_ Murray crowed. Bentley offered the master thief a double thumbs up, and both ninjas nodded.

 

         “Now we just need the gates to-” The heavy iron portcullis groaned, lifting with a rattle. The master thief couldn’t help but grin, proud of his young ancestor. “Never mind.”

 

         “Way to go, Akane!” Murray cheered, throwing his arms into the air. “Now, let’s go kick some tiger tail!”

 

         Sly opened his mouth to agree when a chill rushed through him. Bitterly cold, jagged: it was different than the others. Anguished almost, running from his sternum and through the length of his tail. A hurried glance up revealed Rioichi wincing under the duress of similar pain, Sada grasping his arm in concern. Sly swallowed, looking around once more.

 

         Something was off.

 

         “Guys… Where’s El Jefe?” He spun in a sharp circle, amber eyes searching for any hint of brown leather and orange fur. He threw his arms out, whirling back around to Bentley. “Guys, where’s the tiger? We lost the tiger.”

 

         “He must have escaped during the ambush,” Bentley replied, eyes huge behind his glasses.

 

         “But how? T’ere was nowhere else to go,” Sada argued. “Unless…” Her jade eyes were huge behind the slits of her mask. “T’e gate… It had not closed when our battle began…”

 

         They were all silent, processing this new fact.

 

         El Jefe had been on the bridges, just in front of the open gates. They had stepped onto the bridges, triggering the flood of enemies. The gates had closed, trapping them and…

 

         And…

 

         The tiger had gone through them long before.

 

         They all rushed for the entrance at the same time, Rioichi just a step ahead.

 

         “T’is is my fault,” Sly overheard Rioichi hiss to Sada, stricken. “I told her to wait once she opened t’e gates, I-” He broke off and ran faster.

 

         The connecting hall was short but it felt like an eternity, the sound of their feet bouncing off the wood, echoing in their ears. There was light up ahead, a silhouette just beyond it.

 

         “No!” they heard. _“Hanase!”_

 

         The hall ended, leaving them standing in a stone courtyard. The walls climbed high around them, decorative pillars carved into them. Glass containers, all bearing a animal head symbol, were stacked in generous piles, green gas swirling within them.

 

         “Ah, Cooper!” El Jefe leered, sweeping with his free hand. “So nice of you to join us!”

 

         Rioichi threw out an arm, catching Sada before she could sprint passed him. Sly skidded to a stop next to him, teeth bared, grip shifting on his cane, Bentley and Murray just behind him.

 

         And Akane watched them with sad eyes, hanging in El Jefe’s grip. The tiger grinned wider, giving her a little shake.

 

         “Missing something?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so life has been really busy and I'm way behind on my writing schedule. Up until now, I had all the chapters pre-written and was posting them, but now I've gotta get my act together and write in time to update. The next update is set for next Monday, but if I finish Ch 21 before then, I'll post it on Friday. I'll let ya'll know if the weekly updates will come on Fridays or Mondays by next time.
> 
> On a totally different note, PLEASE check out "A Habitual Quirk" by twelvepercentofaplan!  
> The writing is superb, and I find myself very much partial to "Sense of Touch" and "Color" and who am I kidding, I love the whole damn thing. :D


	21. Smoke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: canon typical violence, animal death (El Jefe kills a pigeon), little bit of blood
> 
> Translations:   
> Hanase- Let go  
> Perra! – little bitch  
> Ratas estúpidas – Stupid rats  
> Quaria Nabkha – Arabic for “Sand Village” (because I’m super creative)

* * *

 

         “No!” Akane gave a vicious squirm, kicking out and swinging her arms. _“Hanase!_ Put me down!”

 

         “The cane for the girl, ninja!” El Jefe shouted to Rioichi, grinning around his cigar. “And the mask for her unharmed,” he added, narrowed gaze flashing at Sada. The _kunoichi_ twitched, _neko-te_ rasping as she bent her fingers, eyes huge behind their covering.

 

         “What do we do?” Murray whispered, gaze flitting between the others. Auras were raging, energy was bottled tight and threatening to spill free…. “Guys, what do we _do?”_

 

         “Just… Just give me a second, Murray,” Bentley gulped. “I’ll figure something out.”

 

         “No!” Rioichi hissed, overhearing them. “Do _not_ endanger my daughter.” He turned back to the mercenary general. “We will give him what he wants.”

 

         “But-!” Bentley made a helpless, frustrated noise. “Sly, can’t you do something?” The master thief offered no reaction, his amber eyes flinty as he watched.

 

         “I’m waiting!” El Jefe shouted. Akane winced, hissing a little at the volume. She tried twisting free again without success; his grip on the back of her tunic was too tight to break.

 

         And then there was a clatter.

 

         Akane froze, staring down at the bamboo canes and black mask resting at El Jefe’s feet. The general inspected them with a _tsk_ , crouching to sweep his spoils up with a free hand. The canes were tucked in the strap across his back, between the handles of two _katana_. The mask was inspected before joining them, the general chuckling low in his chest. Akane shivered at such a dark sound.

 

         “So that’s where my favorite _geisha_ went,” the tiger purred. Sada bared her teeth at him, ears pressed flat to her skull. Her fists shook at her sides, blood running between her knuckles.

 

         “You have what you want,” Rioichi called to him, laying a hand on his wife’s back. Akane wondered if he was trembling too. “Now, give us our kit!”

 

         El Jefe regarded him for a long moment, lips turned up in a smirk. A lump of ice settled in Akane’s stomach, her tail dropping between her legs.

 

         He wasn’t going to let her go.

 

         The bubble of fear burst in her chest, followed by a sort of righteous anger. Her parents had done just as the tiger had ordered without fighting him. They had behaved with dignity and honor, even as he insulted them, and now he was taunting them further!

 

         _Liar! Cheat! Dishonor on him, his family, and all he possessed!_

 

         The anger condensed, squeezing a quiet growl from her. She didn’t have her knife. She didn’t have a cane. She didn’t know how to kick and punch in ways that would do damage like her parents did.

 

         But she had claws and teeth and a wild urge to do something with them.

 

         She twisted in the tiger’s hold, ignoring the sound of ripping fabric, and seized her captor’s arm with both hands. Her claws may have been small but they were kitten sharp, digging into fur and skin. She almost let go at the sensation of hot, sticky blood against her fingertips. Almost. Instead, she tightened her hold and sunk her teeth between them. The taste of fur clogged her senses, smoke, citrus, and metal filling her mouth. It was awful.

 

         She bit harder.

 

         _“Perra!”_ El Jefe barked, waving his arm. She growled around him, shaking her head, ripping deeper. A hand seized her scruff and tore her off. A bolt of pain shot through her mouth, but she ignored it. She clawed at the air, hissing. “Why you little-!”

 

         A blur of green and gold crashed into his stomach, breaking his hold on the kit. The tiger dropped to his knees, and Sada snatched Akane out of the air, darting back to her husband in the same blur.

 

         “Is she ok?” Sly demanded to know, eyes flicking between the kit and El Jefe, who was regaining his bearings. Akane squirmed in her mother’s arms, letting out a sputter. A generous tuft of orange fur fluttered from her mouth to the ground and she stuck on her tongue in distaste.

 

         “He tasted bad.” She glanced up at her parents. “I do not t’ink we should sell tiger, _Tou-san_.” She settled against Sada, wrapping her arms around her neck. Sada all but clung to her, shoulders rising and falling in silent pants. “Never ever.”

 

         “Never, _aijou_ ,” Rioichi agreed. He pulled Sada into his arms, sandwiching Akane between their chests. “Never.”

 

         Sly stepped forward, placing himself between his ancestors and El Jefe. The tiger had drawn himself up and was shaking his head, pressing a hand to his forehead. Murray and Bentley bracketed him, forming a living wall.

 

         “Bentley,” he murmured, barely moving his lips. The turtle tilted his head ever so slightly. “See if you can get a hold of Calia." The genius nodded. "Murray, I want you to get these guys out and somewhere safe. I’ll-”

 

         El Jefe roared, drawing his _katana_ in a silver flash. White crackled along the blades, condensing along the metal.

 

 _“Ratas estúpidas!”_ he snarled, and plunged them into the ground.

 

         The ensuing flash was blinding, first white and then yellow and then orange. The smell of ozone and smoke hung in the air, scraping along their lungs as they breathed. Fire climbed the walls, licked up the pillars, the heat prickling at their skin.

 

         “T’at was lightning!” Akane squeaked, clinging to her mother. Sly didn’t bother to correct her, glaring at the power gauges built into the blades.

 

         El Jefe stood on the other side of the blaze, lapping at his bloody forearm. His eyes gleamed in the firelight, vivid, predatory gold. His pride had been wounded, by a little girl no less. He swallowed a growl, sheathing his _katana_. His job was done: he had the stick, and a mask for added bonus. He could withdraw; it would do him no good to linger, even with his pride screeching for retribution.

 

         “Bah!” he snarled, turning away. The doors behind him swung open to let him through. “I have what I came for!”

 

         “Sly, we can’t let him get away!” Bentley yelped, staring up at the master thief. Sly nodded, eyeing the flames, mapping a path.

 

         “I’m on it, Bentley. You guys get out of here!” He stepped forward, adjusting his hat. “Rioichi, look after them for me. I’m going to kick some tiger tail and get your cane back!” He rushed closer to the flames, dodging around them. Left, up, right, watch the cinder, watch the fur. He slipped through the heavy doors just before they closed; they locked behind him with an electric click. He shook his head, moving deeper into the space with his head held high. The others would be fine.

 

         El Jefe was waiting for him in the center of a small courtyard, not having made it far. His fangs gleamed off-white, the burning end of his cigar glowing a red amidst grey ashes. Sly approached cautiously, eyeing the trembling pigeon caught between the tiger’s claws.

 

         “So, Cooper.” The master thief paused and crossed his arms, tension creeping along his shoulders. “What do you think of my statue?” El Jefe asked with a jerk of his head, petting the trapped bird. Sly looked up at the massive stone tiger, a falsely regal expression on its face.

 

         “Looks like a real pigeon magnet,” he sneered. El Jefe’s expression darkened and he took his frustration out on the bird he had been petting, seizing it by the neck. Sly held back a twitch at the low pop, eyes never leaving the tiger as the bird dropped to the ground.

 

         “You know, Cooper, you’re actually starting to annoy me,” he hissed, drawing his _katana_. He flicked one to the side in a pointless display of its power, scorching a line into the wall and breeding more flames. Sly refrained from rolling his eyes and slipped into a crouch, cane at the ready.

 

         “I have that effect on all cowardly crime lords,” he taunted. The tiger snarled, ears pinning.

 

         “Enough of these games!” Sly’s tail snapped at the air, amber eyes focusing on El Jefe’s enraged yellow glare. “I’m ending this _now!”_

 

 

**~***~**

 

 

         The computers were set up in a small, discrete room, hidden behind a door so inconspicuous it looked like part of the wall. No doubt it was reinforced with passcodes and scanners, so Calia took her chances with the window. She landed inside, ears pricked for any sort of alarm. When the silence continued to reign, she made for the consoles, arranged in an arc before a large chair.

 

         She settled herself in it, a gloved finger tapping the spacebar.

 

         _“Password?”_ the computer prompted. Calia reached for her belt, pulling out a small stick. What had once been a flash drive was now the equivalent of a mini-Bentley, able to hack around firewalls and security systems within minutes and store information afterwards. She had dubbed the devices grave robbers, in keeping with the theme of her pseudonym, and they had been a part of her arsenal for years.

 

         Matiz had giggled hysterically when she explained the reasoning behind moniker to him, clutching at a pillow.

 

         She plugged the robber into the main computer, shoving away thoughts of her friend. The screen blanked for a second before clearing and opening to the main desktop.

 

         “Schematics of the fortress, prison, restaurant….” She scrolled over the icons, playing with the end of her braid. “Schedule at the Geisha House, map of the fishing caverns… Hello, there.” She clicked on a mailbox symbol, eyes scanning the recent messages. El Jefe was too much of professional to leave emails to linger where prying eyes might see them. There were only three correspondences in his entire account: one sent from him, two received from outside sources.

 

         She clicked on the first message in the inbox, addressed from an anonymous sender. The tagline read “Progress Report,” dated only two days ago.

 

 

_“To Anjuu Village,_

_Cotton Mouth Bluff: successful_

_G. Valley: successful_

_Baronstown: successful_

_Quaria Nabkha: nearing completion_

_I expected better from someone of your expertise. You have had ample time and resources to deliver my possessions. Do not continue to test my patience. I will not hesitate to strand you._

_C.LP.”_

 

 

         C.LP.… Those initials seemed awfully familiar, like she had seen them written somewhere before. The locations too. Had she heard them in passing as she walked through the museum?

 

         Shaking her head, she saved the email to her robber. El Jefe had replied to it, so she clicked on his response.

 

 

_“Boss,_

         _Package to be delivered today. Will be awaiting pick up, followed by delivery of provisions._

_PS Additional goods will cost extra. I plan on delivering. Think of it as a gesture of good will to your benefactors.”_

 

 

         Not much of a wordsmith, El Jefe. Calia frowned at the email and reread it. “Boss” meant the mastermind behind the time traveling scheme, the mysterious C.LP. The “package” could only mean Rioichi’s canes… but “additional goods?” And “benefactors?” She tapped the keyboard, frowning, tucking the tidbit away. Perhaps it would make sense later.

 

         The final email, at first glance, was nothing special. Nondescript address. Subject line: _Work._ She clicked on it, propping her chin on her fist.

 

 

         _“Alejandro,_

_Glad to hear job is going well. Look forward to hearing about your new boss._

_Hope you enjoy the cigars._

_Your pal,_

_Les D. Umbra”_

 

 

         It looked like an email between friends. The language was informal and short, like it had been written quickly. Addressing El Jefe by his first name established a relationship, perhaps dominance considering how the sender had used a full name for the closing. Unless….

 

         Calia glanced at the end of the email again, rereading the name.

 

         “‘Your pal, Les D Umbra,’” she repeated to herself. She couldn’t stop a snort from escaping a moment later, braid swinging as she shook her head.

 

         Pal Les D Umbra. Palace d’Umbra: what a spectacular mishmash of language but the message was clear.

         Palace of Shadows.

 

         So they were getting involved…

 

         She saved that email too and exited out. She needed to do some digging as soon she got home. Oh how she missed internet connection.

 

         There was one file left, labeled “Private.” She wrinkled her nose at the implications. She already knew El Jefe was a pervert; she didn’t need any more proof. But still, it always paid to check.

 

         Making a face, she opened the folder. Photos- not entirely unexpected, not entirely hoped for. Her ears folded only to perk seconds later as she opened one.

 

         It was Sada.

 

         Calia blinked, breath catching. Why was Sada on El Jefe’s computer? Wait, no, she didn’t want to know. But… It honestly wasn’t a compromising picture. The date suggested it had been taken even before the mercenary general’s operation had begun. The blonde raccoon was content and happy, dressed in a simple _yukata_ , standing outside the restaurant. Another showed her from the side, her chest bound, holding out her green tunic top. A third showed her in her complete ninja garb, mask and _neko-te_ included. The final showed her with Rioichi, leaping over the rooftops. Rioichi was grinning with a pure sort of joy, an expression mirrored by Sada.

 

         Calia stifled the flash of anger that went through her at the violation of such a private moment, her fist clenching on her knee. Shaking her head and huffing a breath into her face mask, she selected the last photo in the folder.

 

         It was scanned note, handwritten. She could tell from the ink and the curve of the letters that it had been written with a fountain pen of fine to medium nib, on desk stationary. The paper was headed, the logo vaguely blurred but still distinguishable.

 

         A stylized “S,” two crossed calla lilies beneath it.

 

         _“I would very much like to own that lovely mask the_ kunoichi _is wearing.”_

 

         It clicked.

 

         The additional goods. The benefactors. El Jefe was getting Rioichi’s canes for C.LP. Sada’s mask was meant for bigger things.

 

         It was meant for the head of the Palace himself.

 

         The photos needed to be destroyed. Calia’s hands were flying over the keyboard before the thought had fully formed. The pictures, especially the note, had to be secreted away, and then wiped from existence. A quick shutdown, a wipe of the hard drive: she had done it a million times.

 

         Even so, the controlled panic still got to her.

 

         She ejected her grave robber, turning off the system. One by one, the monitors went dark, save for the main one before her. A sharp staccato on the keys. A deletion application appeared and she careful directed it to its targets, beginning with the note. It was shockingly dense, the program working through it. A deletion bar appeared and she clicked her tongue in irritation, watching it load at a steady but sedate pace.

 

         There had to be some way to make it go fast-

 

         A small scale explosion rocked the building, sending her to her feet and diving for the window. The anterior courtyard was enveloped in flames, thick streaks of greenish-grey painting the dawn sky. She could make out a cobalt figure dart between the licks of orange, disappearing through a pair of heavy doors.

 

         Sly.

 

         The others lingered for a brief second before retreating, returning to the bridges. But whatever El Jefe had done to start the blaze had weakened the structures; she could see them falling apart.

 

         Her comm crackled and she reached for it, intent on telling Bentley she would go after Sly (idiot, idiot, _idiot_ , why was it okay for _him_ to throw himself in danger? because it _wasn’t_ ok). The computer blinked at the corner of her vision, drawing her eyes.

 

         _“Deletion 63% Complete”_

 

         She froze, eyes darting to the window. It would take another five minutes at least for her to scrub the hard drive completely, time she could spend helping the Cooper Gang.

 

         But without her there to track the deletion process, everything would be destroyed. People would know someone had been on the computers, in the systems. As the Ghost, she prided herself on remaining unseen until she revealed herself. The last thing she needed was someone else pulling her proverbial sheet.

 

         The saboteur wavered. The flames danced below, hot and red. The screens flickered behind her, blue and cold. It was chaos out there, processed logic inside. Incriminating letters and words all threaded together like a Frankenstein beast, casting its long shadow over her unless she destroyed it.

 

         She closed the window and stepped back to the monitors.

 

         “I’m sorry,” she whispered to no one. “I’m sorry.”

 

         They were already a team. She was just a temporary addition. They could work without her for a few more minutes. She would make it up to them even: information exchanged for time.

 

         An explosion rattled the fortress, debris raining against the window. Her fingers only stuttered because it startled her, not because guilt was threatening to make her whole body lock. Her comm, still clipped to her ear, gave a low beep and she scrambled the signal.

 

         “I’ll make it up to you,” she breathed. Random syllables made it through the comm, Bentley’s tone firm then concerned then worried. “I swear I’ll make it up to you guys.”

 

         Just a few more minutes….

 

 

**~***~**

 

 

         For a guy who did a lot of running away, El Jefe wasn’t a poor fighter in any sense of the word.

 

         Sly wheezed, clutching his neck. He had taken a chance and gotten too close, a heavy paw catching him in the throat and a fist driving itself into his jaw. He touch it, wincing. Not broken, not dislocated; just bruised. Great.

 

         His opponent grinned, starting forward once more. Their battle through the fortress had taken them along several rooftops and walkways, each one left behind in a smoldering heap. Plumes of black smoke rose into the sky, clouding a red sun. All but a few buildings remained untouched by the blaze, though it was only a matter of time before they too were engulfed.

 

         Either one of them went down or they were both going up.

 

         Sly tucked away the pun for later. It would make Bentley pull his sour-lemon face when he was giving him the details of the battle.

 

         The master thief leapt out of the way of a _katana_ and ducked under the other, the blades just missing him. His shoulder ached a little, remembering the force behind them when he had caught one in the hook of his cane. He needed one opening, just one. He’d already landed some good hits, maybe even cracked a rib and definitely knocked out a tooth, he just needed one….

 

         _There._

 

         El Jefe had him boxed in a corner and was raising both his blades for a final blow, grinning with bloody teeth. He thought he was free to finish him, thought there was nothing left for the raccoon to do. The battle had been fought and already won.

 

         Oh, how wrong he was.

 

         Gripping his cane in two hands, Sly swung upwards, quicker than the tiger could hope to deflect. The gold hook crashed into El Jefe’s chin, his head snapping up. _Katana_ clattering to the platform, he staggered backwards, then forwards, lips twisting in one final snarl as he collapsed.

 

         Sly stayed where he was, panting, scanning the tiger for movement. Too little, and he could be faking unconsciousness. Too much, and he could get back up.

 

         A few beats passed and the master thief’s gaze shifted to the bamboo canes and _kabuki_ mask strapped to the mercenary’s back. They had managed to survive the battle unscathed, and he couldn’t help but smile as he reached for them. He touched the carved wood reverently, reaching for the buckles holding them in place.

 

         “Ok, time to get you back-” Something rattled at feet, dropped from above. A silver canister rolled toward his feet, stopping between them. Sly blinked, confused, and saw the black and green emblem.

 

         And then he saw the pin was pulled.

 

         Sly threw himself off the edge of roof as the grenade went off, the heat chasing after his back. He twisted, hooking the edge of the roof. There was a heavy sound, something crunching into wood. He pulled himself up, risking a peek at the platform.

 

         A pair of rat troopers scurried around El Jefe’s prone form, seizing Rioichi’s canes and Sada’s mask to hold aloft with muffled sounds of triumph. Sly sucked in a breath, ducking back down when the glassy eyes whipped around to him, a volley of pellets zipping over his head. He waited a moment before checking again, this time to see them rising up on a long piece of rope, returning to the now stationary blimp.

 

         Sly would have loved to have hoisted himself up and sprinted after them, climbed the rope to the blimp’s cockpit and gotten answers. One of the troopers noticed him and gave a sarcastic wave, squeaking under his gasmask. Something slipped free from the rat’s belt, the glint of metal drawing the master thief’s focus.

 

         It looked like a-

 

         The charred wood cracked under his cane, jarring him back to the situation at hand. He cast a cursory glance below him, searching for something to land on, but no, the ropes were burnt, the bamboo bridges were burnt, everything was _burnt_. The walkway beneath him was his best shot, his _only_ shot.

 

         He had to take it.

 

         But time wouldn’t allow for it.

 

         The plank gave out with a harsh crunch, folding around the crook of his cane. Sly couldn’t stop himself from gasping, his stomach clenching and toes curling in his boots, aching for solid ground.

 

         And just as quickly, he stopped.

 

         Something snagged his wrist, halting his short plummet. Instinctively, he reached for the wall with his opposite hand, finding safer purchase and decent footholds before looking to his savior.

 

         “Sly, we need to get out of here!” Calia yelled. Another grenade went off, the vibrations rattling in their teeth.

 

         “But Rioichi’s cane! And Sada’s mask!” He wasn’t going to fail his ancestors. He _couldn’t_ fail his ancestors.

 

         “Aren’t worth your life!” the saboteur argued. “Look, they’re bringing this place down! Half of it is on fire! We need to leave _right now!”_ The platform cracked, spewing bits of ash into the air, the flames leaping higher. The raccoons flinched, Calia ducking her head to shield her eyes. Sly went to do the same, eyes watering, when the glint from earlier caught his eye once more.

 

         Gold-plated. Star. His thieving instincts trilled, fingers twitching. He snatched the decorative medal out of the air as it threatened to cartwheel right off the edge of the roof. It was hot in his hand and he quickly shoved it in his thigh pouch as Calia gripped his arm.

 

         “Let’s go!”

 

         They leapt down to the smaller platform, making for another when it gave a warning crack, listing sharply to one side. Another jump yielded slightly better results. A third and then fourth brought them to the ground, choked with fumes and flame. Sly grabbed Calia’s hand, determined not to lose her in the smoke.

 

         “This way!” He pulled her along, leading them both through the doors he had entered the courtyard through. They slumped on their hinges, metal innards sparking and fizzing in the heat, wood glowing with embers.

 

         The bridges had all but given way, skeletal remains of what they had been. Sly jumped up onto a balustrade, following the familiar line of blue sparkles. Calia’s fingers squeezed his palm before slipping free.

 

         “Right behind you,” she assured him. He would have much preferred keeping a grip on her but there was no time to argue.

 

         Sly rushed ahead, striding over the strip of wood like he was on perfectly solid ground. Calia followed at a more sedate pace, hands held out a little from her sides for balance. The bridge wobbled and she dropped to a knee to steady herself. The master thief leapt off and turned, eyes going wide when he realized how far behind him she was. After another tense thirty seconds, she crossed the halfway point and finally made it to solid ground. They paused to take a breath, out of reach of the fire and smog.

 

         “Sorry,” the saboteur laughed, hands shaky with adrenaline. “Not as good at that as you.”

 

         “I forget that what I do isn’t exactly normal,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Did you find what you needed?” Calia bit her lip and nodded, fingers brushing against a small pouch on her belt. She looked… guilty almost, but before he could ask her what was wrong, he was interrupted by a fantastic crashing from inside the blackened remains of El Jefe’s fortress.

 

         With a sound like distant thunder, the great tiger statue collapsed. Sly watched it fold, panting into the smoky air. He didn’t turn again until his name was called, his eyes flitting to the green and pink figures running towards them. He mustered a smile, avoiding the red and blonde forms just behind them.

 

         El Jefe was gone, his fortress was destroyed, and Anjuu Village could go back to being peaceful.

 

         Bad guy beat, justice served: it was a textbook victory.

 

         So when Sly turned his gaze skyward one last time, he chalked up the bitterness on his tongue to the ashes raining down around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -cries because this is so late-  
> I'm so sorry, guys. Most of the time, I have parts of chapters prewritten, but this I had to do completely from scratch and I totally underestimated how long it would take me to do so. Also, I emailed it to my beta late, but bless her heart she got it to me.  
> Now I just hope it's good enough to make up for its lateness....
> 
> Next chapter will wrap up the "Turning Japanese" arc and get the Gang on their way to the Wild West.


	22. And So We Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: implied sexual content (-stares hard at Sada, who is completely unapologetic-)
> 
> Translations:  
> Furoshiki- a wrapping cloth, used to wrap up various goods  
> Yakimeshi- fried rice  
> Gohan- cooked rice; I use it to mean sticky rice  
> Sekihan- rice made with red bean; it’s pink  
> Onigiri- rice balls with some sort of filling  
> Tempura- lightly battered, fried vegetables or seafood  
> Mikan- essentially a small orange  
> Itadakismasu- “I gratefully receive”; used before eating a meal

* * *

 

         The burning of the fortress was like a cleansing. Knowing that their general had been defeated, the various guards fled the village, terrified for their lives. The blaze coaxed the citizens of the village from their homes, and they watched the smoke and flames with wide eyes.

 

         It provided the perfect cover for the Cooper Gang and its allies to slip away unnoticed, taking shelter in the restaurant to regroup.

 

         Bentley glanced around the table they were sitting at, studying each face. Murray, still in his _kimono_ from when he had delivered the Wall Climber sushi to the guards, rubbed at what was left of his makeup. The turtle watched him sacrifice his already sooty sleeves to wipe it away, only to smear ash over his forehead. When the fire had gotten too intense, the hippo had scooped them up (literally, with Bentley under one arm, Sada and Akane in the other, and Rioichi perched on his shoulders) and made for the bridges, getting them across while it was still stable.

 

         Akane was at the hippo’s elbow, leaning against her mother. The kit had been silent since her rescue, jade eyes exhausted. There was still blood on her muzzle, mostly El Jefe’s but some of her own. One of her hands drifted to her mouth, pushing passed the lip to prod the space where one of her lower incisors had been. She had bitten the tiger so hard she had torn it loose.

 

         Sada kept an arm around her, her _neko-te_ discarded on the table. She was staring at the bits of metal, chin propped on her fist. Bentley observed her face quietly, musing over the loss of the _kabuki_ mask. No doubt she felt exposed, vulnerable without it, maybe even weakened. But the _kunoichi_ had shown an immeasurable amount of strength in times where others would have folded. The turtle could only guess her thoughts.

 

         Rioichi had his fingers resting on the crook of her arm, meditative. He had removed his hood and his topknot upon entering, tying his long hair back. He appeared smaller without the coverings, especially without his canes. Bentley had never noticed before, how much power the weapons leant their owners. He had only seen Sly without his once.

 

         Said cane was tucked out of sight. Perhaps a show of solidarity; maybe a declaration of guilt. Or Sly could have just been hiding it to avoid bringing up the fact he had failed to return with his ancestors’ possessions. It was childlike almost- a kid waiting for the inevitable discussion, choking on the forlorn hope that it wouldn’t be mentioned. The master thief’s fingers twitched, his leg bouncing under the table: sure signs he was feeling the weight of his perceived failure.

 

         Calia was surprisingly collected but closed off. Her facemask was still in place, her hood drawn, blue eyes vivid in the shadows. She had her forearms folded, hands gripping just below her biceps; under the table, her legs were crossed. The saboteur had isolated herself from the rest of them. Why, Bentley didn’t know, and it sat like a weight in his stomach.

 

         He glanced down at his own hands, rubbing at the ash stuck in his palms. He needed to make more bombs, check his darts, sweep his computer for any potential viruses, do a systems check on his chair. Something told him this next string of heists was gong to be a long one. And dangerous. His thoughts drifted to Penelope, and he yanked them back on track. He could contact her when they got back to Paris. They still weren’t finished here.

 

         “So.” Calia broke the silence, pulling her mask and hood down. She gave a half-smile, looking at no one in particular. “Do we need to debrief or something? Is that how this goes?”

 

         “Yeah,” Bentley replied, jolted from his introspection. “Yeah, we do.” He removed his glasses, polished them with a spare cloth, and put them back on. “Overall, I say this operation was pretty successful.” Sly’s right ear twitched and his tail gave a single lash. “We’ve done away with El Jefe, destroyed his fortress, and ridded the village of his patrols in the process, and that was just tonight. In the past three days, the seven of us freed those unlawfully imprisoned, returned control of this restaurant to its proper owners, prepared it for business, and uprooted a military outpost.”

 

         Dull stares met his synopsis. Bentley sighed and looked to Murray for assistance.

 

         “He means we did _awesome!”_ the hippo rephrased, throwing his arms into the air. “We kicked butt, took names, and everything turned out okay!”

 

         “Almost ok,” Sly corrected, drawing himself up. He let out a quiet sigh before raising his head, amber eyes ashamed. “When I defeated El Jefe on the roofs, whoever brought him here stopped by to say hello. And..." A frustrated sound escaped him. "They wanted the canes and the mask, and they got to them before I could.” He bowed his head again, ears folding. “I’m sorry.”

 

         Sada exchanged a look with her husband, tilting her head. Losing her mask was like losing a part of herself, like she had been violated in ways not even El Jefe could compete with. But it was just a piece, not the whole- with time and patience, the hole of its loss would fill.

 

         But her husband, well. His canes were his symbol. They represented his heritage, signified his readiness to continue his family’s tradition, and showed his will to continue on the legacy of the Coopers. More than juts tools for thieving, they were his past, present, and future. It was like losing a limb; it would be a while before it healed.

 

         “In a way, I am glad.” Sly’s amber eyes darted up to Rioichi’s face, impossibly wide. Sada was sure she looked no better. The red raccoon chuckled, smirking. “I suppose it is a bit hard to understand but… I am glad you did not win a battle meant for me to fight.” He squeezed her arm, offering a shy, smaller smile. “At least, t’is is how I feel. I cannot speak for my _aisai.”_

 

         Sada blinked at her husband, the shock showing on her face before she remembered it was no longer covered. She let out faint laugh of her own, leaning over to nudge his shoulder.

 

         “Even after decades of being with you, Rioichi Cooper, you still manage to surprise me,” she told in their mother tongue, kissing his cheek. “But yes, I feel t’is way also,” she added in English, nodding to Sly. Their descendant’s ears rose, though his shoulders stayed tense.

 

         “Thank you.”

 

         Sada nodded, her eyes moving to his throat. There was an indigo stain spreading under his fur, pinpricked by five dots of red. The bruising was familiar to her, and her own neck twinged with sympathy, remembering the grip and dig of sharp claws.

 

         “We aren’t needed here anymore. We have to leave before people see us.” Bentley was explaining, drawing her attention away from her descendant. “Otherwise, we could have irrevocable effects on history.”

 

         “Too late to leave now,” Murray shrugged. “Everyone’s coming outside after being stuck inside. And I don’t know about you,” the hippo paused to yawn, “but I’m _exhausted.”_

 

         _“Hai,”_ Akane chirped in agreement, echoing with a yawn of her own. Sada gathered the kit into her lap, getting to her feet.

 

         “I am going to take her to bed,” she announced, resting a hand on Rioichi’s shoulder. “Make sure Sly gets some _shouga_ for his neck,” she murmured to him. “The others too if they need it.” Her husband nodded, standing to press a kiss to their daughter’s forehead.

 

         “I t’ink it is time for all of us to rest,” the red raccoon told them as Sada left with the kit. “We will meet you in t’e evening to see you off. But wait here a moment.”

 

         The Gang did as they were asked, the master ninja slipping back into the kitchen. With the adrenaline wearing off, each of them could feel exhaustion weighing them down. Murray yawned for a second time while Sly pushed a hand through his hair. Calia leaned against the wall, and Bentley rocked his chair back and forth, letting out a sigh.

 

         “And to think,” he mumbled. “We were fishing just a few hours ago.”

 

         Rioichi returned, holding a gnarled root in his hand. A pungent smell filtered through the air, sharp and vaguely familiar.

 

         “T’is is _shouga._ Ginger, I t’ink you call it _,”_ he said, stopping in front of Sly and handing the root to him. “It makes a very strong tea when steeped. If you soak a rag in it and lay it over an injury, it will help it to heal.”

 

         “Thanks,” Sly hummed, running a self-conscious hand over his bruises. Rioichi reached out to touch his shoulder, drawing his gaze upward.

 

         “Sly, my family is safe. We have our home back, and peace will come to t’is village once more.” The red raccoon shook his head, his single braid swinging with the motion. “I can ask for no more. I do not _want_ anymore. Perhaps only for you to forgive yourself.” Sly managed to quirk his lips in a half-smile. Rioichi squeezed his shoulder once before letting go. “Rest well.”

 

         “Yeah.” His descendant turned away with a wave, amber eyes slipping away. “You guys too.”

 

 

**~***~**

 

 

         “You know, that’s not going to work if you keep moving it around.” Sly pouted at Calia, dropping the rag back on his neck. He was in the sleeping bag nest, a tea soaked cloth splayed over his neck. As soon as everything had been returned to the various compartments of the van, Murray had taken the ginger and grated part of it into a small bowl of water. While the mixture heated by way of blowtorch, the hippo had rattled off the root’s uses, explaining to Calia how he had learned about natural medicine while studying under the Guru in Australia.

 

         She had bitten her tongue to refrain from asking more questions. Her time with the Cooper Gang was over. Being on the team had been a one-time only event.

 

         The saboteur had to keep it that way. Didn’t necessarily want to but…. She ran her thumb over her grave robber before squirreling it away in her bag.

 

         She had to.

 

         “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you.” She glanced back to see Sly watching her, his cheek pillowed on his arm as he lay on his side. “Do you want to move your sleeping bag by us? I know it’s the last night and all, but, ya know… Please?” He shrugged without dislodging the cloth. “So long as you’re comfortable with it, of course,” he added.

 

         Calia paused, toying with the zipper on her bag. The thought of sleeping next to the trio didn’t make her uncomfortable, per se, but perhaps… awkward was a better word. They were a cohesive unit and yet, here she was, being invited in. Sure, she had something of a history with Sly and had grown reasonably close with Bentley and Murray but….

 

         _Stop over-analyzing,_ her Matiz-voiced conscience scolded. _You want to sleep next to them because who turns down the potential for free cuddles, but you’re stopping yourself because you don’t want to get anymore attached than you already are. Quick making excuses; make with the cuddles instead._

 

         She bit her lip and zipped her bag shut.

 

         … _It’s a one-time thing._ This time, the voice was her own. _Enjoy it while it lasts._

 

         “Yeah…” she murmured. At Sly’s pricked ears and hopeful expression, she spoke louder, injecting more confidence in her voice. “Yeah, I can move my sleeping bag.”

 

         “Thanks.” The grin in his voice was audible. A laugh escaped her.

 

         “You dork.” She picked up the edge of her blankets and dragged them over to the side Bentley slept on. “You’re just lucky I’ve gotten used to Murray snoring.”

 

         Sly chuckled, getting up to help her tug her sleeping bag in place, tossing the compress near his discarded sweater. She ended up on Bentley’s right side, her bag zipped in with the others. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sly hesitate, opening his mouth as if to speak. She turned away, waiting for him to speak while she redistributed the blankets.

 

         But no words came.

 

         Neither Bentley nor Murray commented on the new arrangement when they entered the cave, getting into their usual places. Calia shuffled away a little when Bentley lay down, fighting the urge to roll to her other side.

 

         “Hey, make sure you’ve got your inhaler by you,” Sly ordered, poking the turtle’s shell. “There was a lot of smoke out there, and I don’t want you having an asthma attack in the middle of the day. People need their sleep,” he teased. Bentley rolled his eyes and made a show of pulling the device from his chair and setting it down by his head. The master thief offered a cheeky grin. “Good light.”

 

         “Yeah, yeah,” the genius grumbled. “Go to bed, ginger-boy. We’re going to be up and moving as soon as the sun sets. I contacted Dimitri, and he said we need to head to the American Western Frontier as soon as possible.”

 

         “When?” Murray grunted, already half-asleep.

 

         “Eighteen eighty something,” Sly replied, amber eyes gleaming. “Tennessee Kid Cooper, right?”

 

         “Correct. Don’t worry about it now.” Bentley set his hat near Sly’s, untying his bowtie. “I’ll give you the details as soon as I have them.”

 

         Calia listened quietly to the exchange, blue eyes trained on the far wall. Murray made a garbled sound before lapsing into snores. Sly watched Bentley for a few terse moments, searching his face for something. After finding whatever it was, he dropped his gaze and closed his eyes, drawing his legs up closer to his body.

 

         She waited in silence, listening to the chorus of breathing around her. Murray’s snores, a familiar background noise now, like the trickling of water through the main cave. Sly’s whisper-like inhales, his shoulders hardly moving. Bentley tended to hover somewhere between snoring and silent breathing, taking louder breaths at a slower rate than the other two.

 

         When he was asleep anyway.

 

         “You know, you never mentioned how _your_ mission went.” Calia didn’t bother jumping at the sound of Bentley’s voice; she had been expecting the conversation. She sighed, a sound tinged with amusement.

 

         “Nothing gets passed you.”

 

         “I don’t make a habit of letting anything get passed me.” The turtle couldn’t afford to. He was the brain of the Cooper Gang, yes, but also its eyes and ears, on a constant vigil for danger. More information meant less of a chance of a surprise, a blindsiding. Knowledge meant time to prepare defenses, ready attacks. So, no, nothing got passed Bentley. He didn’t let it. “But I’m willing to let you tell me in private. Or as privately as we’re going to get right now.” He heard her chuckle.

 

         “I appreciate it.” She shifted, blankets rustling around her waist. “I found some locations on El Jefe’s computers I think you guys will be interested in. As soon as I get home, I’ll research them and get back to you,” Calia told him, voice just above a whisper. “The Palace is definitely supporting whoever’s in charge of all this.” She paused, listening to Murray and Sly snore and breathe. “Do the initials ‘C.LP’ mean anything to you?” Bentley hummed and shook his head. “What about Cotton Mouth Bluff, G. Valley, Baronstown, or Quaria Nabkha?” Again, his reply was a negative. “Those were some locations I found in one of the emails. C.LP was the one giving orders to El Jefe. They didn’t seem too happy with how long he was taking to get the canes.”

 

         “Sounds like a relationship built on intimidation. If El Jefe survived the fire, I wondered if he would be willing share some intel,” Bentley mused. Calia shrugged, a slim shoulder rising and falling.

 

         “It’s a possibility, but he usually doesn’t. So long as he’s rewarded for his services, he keeps quiet. Besides,” she added, shifting to her back. “It’s all moot if he’s dead.”

 

         “True,” he agreed, and they lapsed into silence. Bentley pulled off his glasses and double-checked the position of his inhaler. Calia shuffled down deeper into the blankets, ruffling her fur. Hardly any sunlight reached the back cave, and it was too far back for the heat of the day to warm it, making for a cool, borderline chilly interior.

 

         “Wanna sleep in the middle?” the genius offered. He felt her stiffen, tail flicking through the air, and shake her head.

 

         “I don’t want to come between you guys.”

 

         The words took Bentley back about two years, when they convinced a certain mouse to join the Gang. He remembered them putting their hands together in a show of camaraderie: first Sly, then Bentley, then Murray. The Guru had followed, purple arm extended between the brains and the brawn. His physical presence had been small, his spiritual one almost overwhelming.

 

         Penelope had joined, pressing her way to Sly’s side, smiling up at him with coy eyes. Bentley remembered the ugly rush of jealousy he had felt in response, oozing through him like sludge. He shuddered at the memory.

 

         “That’s considerate,” he hummed. “But,” he paused, feeling Sly shift against his back, “you wouldn’t be coming between anyone if we invited you in.” She didn’t reply. Her breathing was too quick for her to have already fallen asleep, her body too tense. He cursed his lack of glasses, wishing he could see the expression on her face.

 

         “…Good to know,” she whispered. He waited for something to happen, for her to move. Instinct would be cajoling her to seek out heartbeats and warm bodies, only one of which he could provide with his cold blood.

 

         But she didn’t move.

 

         Was it out of respect? Perhaps she was uncomfortable sleeping with a group of males. Even though one was in a relationship, one was a gentleman, and the third had never shown interest in romantic or sexual relationship.

 

         Bentley fell asleep formulating theories, dismissing and reevaluating them. He dreamt of white question marks that flinched when he got too close.

 

 

**~***~**

 

 

         “Papa, Papa!” Rioichi glanced up from where he stood at the sink, washing some dishes. He had gotten up early to cook and gotten carried away, delighted by the ability to once more enjoy the task in peace. Akane crashed into his legs as she rushed to him from outside, her friends left in the plaza. “Papa, there are blue sparks!”

 

         “Blue sparks?” he echoed, raising an eyebrow. She nodded, locks of red hair escaping her bun.

 

         “Yes! They’re on the lantern ropes and around the fountain and the edges of the roofs, Papa!” His heart clenched, the air rushing out of him. Something proud and afraid expanded in his chest, beating against his ribs.

 

         “What’s going on?” Sada walked down the stairs, tucking her butterfly comb into her hair, dressed in her favorite _yukata_.

 

         “Akane is seeing blue sparks,” he explained hesitantly. Her hands twitched, eyes widening. For a moment, she was stuck, lips parted, face blank. Rioichi bit his lip and moved toward her. Akane was motionless, her excitement trickling away.

 

         And then Sada smiled.

 

         “Really, _aijou?”_ Akane nodded, beaming once more, rushing to her for a celebratory hug. The _kunoichi_ nuzzled the kit’s hair, her grip tight. “How wonderful.”

 

         “Yes…” Rioichi agreed. He cocked his head. “It changes things. Your training should begin-”

 

         “Tomorrow,” Sada hummed, letting the girl go. Akane grinned up at her, bouncing in place. The red raccoon couldn’t mask is surprise. “Tomorrow, we’re going to teach you how to climb a rope properly. But today,” she kissed the kit’s forehead, “today I think you should go play before they go inside, _aijou._ And then we’re going to see our friends off, all right?”

 

         “Yes, Mama!” she sang, rushing out of the restaurant again. They listened to the happy chatter as she met with her friends again, the sweet laughter when they began to play. Rioichi let out a sigh.

 

         “I can’t believe she’s seeing the sparks already.”

 

         “Are you surprised?” Sada wondered, bending to pull out a stacking bento box and a matching _furoshiki_ from a cupboard. “She’s been through so much. I’m surprised she didn’t see them sooner, to be honest.” He gave a noncommittal hum, moving to the sink to start washing the dishes again.

 

         “And you’re… okay with it?” Rioichi hedged. “I know what you said, Sada, but still…”

 

         “Surprisingly, I am.” She set out the boxes, spreading out the _furoshiki_ for later before making her way to him. “Now I just want her to be prepared for our way of life as soon as possible.” He leaned down to kiss her temple.

 

         “We will teach her, _aisai,”_ he promised. “She’s already a great Cooper. She’ll be an even greater thief, if she choses to become one.” He paused, washing a few bowls before continuing.

 

         “I thought, with everything that’s happened, the experience would frighten her,” he admitted. “I almost hoped it would, but now…” He shook his head, a fond smile on his lips. “She’s fearless.” Sada wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her chin on his shoulder.

 

         “She has always been fearless,” she hummed. “Now she just knows she is.” The red raccoon laughed.

 

         “That’s even worse,” he chuckled, pressing one hand over hers. The blonde raccoon grinned against his shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze.

 

         “It’s good to hear you laugh again,” she sighed. He smiled and patted her hands, going back to washing the dishes. She stayed where she was, humming. Her presence was a calming one, the thump of her heart a steady beat against his back.

 

         Then one of her hands ducked into his robe. His breath hitched as it roamed his chest, fingers tapping against his sternum before sliding lower, tracing circles through his fur.

 

         “How long before the rice is done cooking?”

 

         “Sada,” he warned, even as his knees went traitorously weak. “I don’t want to burn anything.”

 

         “You won’t.” He shivered at the scrape of her fangs at his shoulder, the pressure of her palm as it moved down his stomach. The suds around his wrists might as well have been shackles.

 

         “We can’t be late to see the others off.”

 

         “We won’t.”

 

         “Sa _da.”_ He broke into a whine, gasping when she bit him. She glanced up at him, jade eyes half-lidded, lips turned up in a smirk.

 

         “Do you want me to stop?” He swallowed and shook his head; so much for her steadying him. Her smirk widened. “You won’t burn anything and we won’t be late. Trust me.” She left a bold mark on his neck, other hand sliding into his clothes. “I won’t need that long.”

 

 

**~***~**

 

 

         The evening came all too quickly and at the same time not fast enough. Sly was torn between wanting to linger in the village and insisting they leave to help Tennessee, bouncing his leg as he watched Bentley do his final systems check. According to the turtle, the badge he had found would get them where they needed to go, but they needed to make a pit stop in Paris to restock on supplies.

 

         And then there was the matter of dropping off Calia.

 

         The saboteur was leaning against the van next to him, wearing a grey shirt with the jacket part of her ensemble tied around her waist. It had been her and not Bentley to wake up wheezing after forgetting to remove her binder, an experience Sly was loath to experience again. After the offending piece of clothing was exchanged for something looser, he insisted they split what left of the ginger so she wouldn’t develop any bruises.

 

         He turned his head to watch her, crossing his arms over his chest. If she noticed she didn’t react, her eyes roaming the mountains and star-studded sky.

 

         Sly couldn’t help but wonder where she planned on going from here. Bentley had told him about the connections to the Palace of Shadows she had found via email, about the initials and locations. None of which seemed familiar. From what she had shared with them, her mission hadn’t sounded too successful. How she was going to continue was a mystery to him, but, then again, he had never been one for in-depth planning. Gut instinct would have been telling him to stick around, see if there were any more breadcrumbs left behind by the time-travellers.

 

         He certainly would have liked to help her if he thought she would accept it.

 

         He opened his mouth to speak when she straightened, waving to someone down the path. A glance up revealed three shadows heading toward them: Rioichi and Sada, hand in hand, and Akane, bounding ahead of them. Pleasure at seeing the kit so happy chased away the last bit of his discontent, bringing a smile to his lips.

 

         In fact, the entire family looked happier than he had seen them. Sada had some pink in her cheeks, jade eyes twinkling. Even Rioichi looked a little flushed, a smile playing around his lips. His hair was drawn into a low ponytail instead of its usual topknot, wearing a dark grey _yukata_ with a tan sashinstead of his tunic.

 

         _“Konnichiwa!”_ Akane chirped once she was in earshot. She took something from her mother, rushing to them with it over her head.

 

         “We did not know what you liked best,” she grinned, holding up the _furoshiki_ wrapped bundle. “So we made a bit of everyt’ing!”

 

         “A bit of everything?” Bentley echoed, taking the parcel.

 

         “ _Tou-san_ wanted to make sure you had somet’ing good to eat for when you went home,” she explained, smiling up at her father. Rioichi nodded, looking a touch sheepish.

 

         “My apologies if t’ere is anyt’ing burnt,” he muttered.

 

         “As if I would let you burn anyt’ing,” Sada teased, elbowing him. Her smile was nothing short of smug, as if she was enjoying a private joke. Rioichi cleared his throat, folding his hands behind his back. It made Sly’s curiosity itch, but he didn’t bother pressing as Akane continued, bouncing on her toes.

 

         “T’ere is _yakimeshi,_ and _sekihan,_ and _gohan,”_ she explained. “We made _onigiri_ with it. T’en he grilled some of t’e salmon we caught and added _teriyaki_. I tried to tell _Tou-san_ you did not need icky vegetables, but he said t’e bento needed it, so t’ere is _tempura_ too” she added in a loud whisper. “But do not worry. I made sure to put in some _mikan.”_ Sly chuckled.

 

         _“_ You did this all for us?” Murray wondered, peering at the box with interest. _“Itadakismasu.”_ Rioichi nodded, smiling gently.

 

         “It has been an honor meeting you,” Sada told them, offering a bow, which they returned. “T’ank you. T’ank you for protecting our family.”

 

         “We owe you a debt,” Rioichi added. “Should you have need of us, we will do whatever we can.”

 

         The warm contentment the group had been feeling bubbled away. The breeze seemed colder, the stars a little further away. Akane’s grin melted away, her ears folding; her jade eyes were glossy when she peered up at her mother.

 

         “Do t’ey have to go, _Kaa-san?”_ Akane mumbled, clutching her _yukata_. Sada stroked her hair, tucking a strand behind her ear.

 

         “I am afraid so, _aijou,”_ she sighed. “Go on. Say your goodbyes.” The kit’s face crumpled but she nodded, plodding away from her parents to the others.

 

         “Goodbye, Bentley- _oniisan,”_ she murmured, stretching up to the turtle. He bent to give her a hug, mechanical arms joining the embrace.

 

         “You be good, okay?” She nodded and moved to Murray, reaching for something tucked into her _obi_.

 

         “For you.” The hippo held the origami cherry blossom in his huge hand like it was made of glass.

 

         “I’ll keep practicing,” he promised. She mustered a smile and turned to Calia, reaching up as the saboteur crouched down.

 

         “Goodbye, _oneesan_ ,” the kit murmured. “I will miss you.”

 

         “And I’ll miss you, sweet pea,” Calia replied. “You be safe. Keep an eye on this place for me.” The kit gave a determined nod.

 

         _“Hai.”_

 

         Sly knelt as Akane turned to him, peeking up through her eyelashes. She twisted her fingers together, fiddled with the _obi_ of her _kimono_. He waited, patient, until her gaze finally met his.

 

         She threw herself against his chest, arms wrapping around his shoulders while she burrowed into his neck.

 

         “Do not forget me, Sly- _oniisan_ ,” she begged, squeezing him tightly. “Please do not.”

 

         “As if I could,” he murmured back. “You’re going to grow up to do great things, kit. I just know it.” She made no reply, but leaned back to touch her nose to his.

 

         He stood and she returned to her parents, taking her father’s hand. With one final nod to his ancestors, Sly turned away, the others falling into step beside him.

 

         “Hey, Calia,” he hummed. She looked over at him, hands in her pockets. “There’s enough room for you to sit up front with me if you’d like.” She blinked, blue eyes scouring his face. Whatever she found caused her to soften, arguments dying before they could take shape. She slipped into the passenger seat and buckled the seatbelt around them. She kept their sides pressed together as he leaned out the window for a final look. Murray started the engine and Bentley adjusted the time machine, the machinery humming around them.

 

         Akane waved one last time, still holding onto her father’s hand. Sly waved back, stifling the hollow feeling rising up in him. Calia leaned against him and he took comfort in her weight, leaning back with a sigh.

 

         Anjuu Village looked as Rioichi had described it now. He could still remember the excerpt from the _Thievius Raccoonus._

 

_“The mountains shroud themselves with mist when the night comes. What is green turns dark and the grey of the river runs silver. I can hear the crickets singing to each other, the murmur of voices around me. Anjuu Village eases me in a way I cannot explain, yet excites me at the same time. I tend to shy away from peace, from stagnancy. The air here is quiet, but it shivers with potential. Instead of desiring to leave, I find myself settling but not bound to stillness._

 

_There is a future here for me, both as a thief, a ninja, and a man. I look forward to meeting it, but for now, I find comfort in the stillness of the moon over the rushing waters of my home.”_

 

         Murray shifted gears, the van roaring its approval, and Feudal Japan vanished in a crackle of blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whaaaaat? I'm actually posting at a reasonable hour!?! -dramatic gasp-
> 
> And so closes the Turning Japanese arc. I'm going to miss writing with Rioichi, Sada, and Akane, but trust me when I say we haven't seen the last of them ;) But I hope ya'll enjoyed the wrap up ^_^ it certainly got away with me


	23. The Ex-Girlfriend and The Best Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: none
> 
> Translations:  
> Petit copain – boyfriend  
> N’est-ce pas – isn’t it  
> Amigos – friends

         Matiz Liberato liked to think of himself as a decent guy. If a friend called at two in the morning because they were smashed, he would pick them up and record them for posterity, yellow eyes gleaming with mischief from behind the camera. He was the kind of guy who would share his last piece of gum, but fight for the marshmallow crumbs of his favorite cereal. He looked at a twenty-episode season TV series with a can-do attitude. He knew when to throw punches and when to aim for the balls and run. Six foot four and skinny, he knew how to convince his long limbs to work with him more often than not. He could pull all-nighters or all-dayers on a single, extra-large can of energy drink. As a journalist, he wasn’t afraid to hunt down a good lead or a potential story. And as a writer of stories, he could never resist the siren song of his own curiosity.

 

         Though, at the moment, breaking into a museum had nothing to do with a story, for an article or otherwise.

 

         No, this was for Calia, and he was ignoring the little voice whispering that this was a _bad idea._

 

         He _could_ have been in Calia’s apartment, waiting for her like a normal person. He _could_ have been visiting her favorite restaurants and cafés and shops, or filing a missing person’s report at the police station, but _noooo_. Matiz Liberato was at a museum in the dead of night trying to find answers himself because he had the patience of a two-year old and all the worry of a mother sending her baby off to school for the first time.

 

         _‘Calia, if I don’t find your_ butt _in this building….’_ He had been around the museum like, three times by now and hadn’t found a single way in. Attempting to scale the gutter had resulted in an embarrassing (and cold) slide down. The fences were too high for him to climb. Scowling at an open, upper-level window, the maned wolf was almost ready to pack it in and go back. Biting his lip, his gaze fell to the first floor windows.

 

         “Probably locked,” he tsked, rubbing his chin. Speaking aloud was a habit he had picked up from years of talking into a recorder. People always picked locks in movies, but he had no bobby pins or paperclips on him. He sighed and reached for the closest one. No harm in trying. He flicked the outside latch and gave an experimental pull.

 

         _Click._

 

         It swung open, a gust of conditioned air breezing against his face. He blinked in surprise, peering into the room. He could see glass cases, paintings, the odd statue or bust…. He mouthed a quick “yes” to himself, clenching a fist in triumph, and hoisted himself up to the sill.

 

         “Ok, Matiz, you can do this,” he whispered to himself, swinging his long legs inside. “Baby’s first break in.” He eased his feet to the floor, standing gingerly. “Ok, so far so good…” He took a step and jerked when a floorboard squeaked.

 

         _‘Calia, how do you do this?’_ he thought, tiptoeing away from the window and pulling out his phone for a light. He was used to going into public property at odd hours, jumping fences to get into abandoned buildings, but this…. He had never broken into a functioning public building before. He cringed, briefly inspecting the displays before moving on. Everything _looked_ normal for a museum: old, a little creepy, and dusty but nothing _weird._

 

         Wait, dusty?

 

         He stopped and ran a finger over the top of a glass case, grimacing when it came away dirty. He remembered Calia saying how the museum patron liked to keep everything clean and inviting, especially in wings he sponsored. In fact, he personally oversaw shipments and renovations.

 

         “So why all the crap?” Matiz mumbled, lifting his phone. With the extra light, he could see boxes stacked against the walls, each one bearing the same stamp. He snapped a quick picture and moved closer, crouching to inspect one.

 

         They looked like storage crates, small enough to carry. Several had their lids popped, contents missing; others were open but undisturbed. The wolf snapped a few more pictures before moving to inspect the open ones. He pawed through the packing straw, lifting his phone to illuminate what was inside: a fist-sized statue, a piece of jewelry, and a fang.

 

         The figurine looked like a Venus, hewn from a piece of rough stone in the image of a voluptuous female figure. A necklace lay wrapped around its feet, the ancient beads almost pristine. And there the huge fang, nestled among the beads. It was notched with twenty-four small marks and four larger ones: a twenty-eight day calendar.

 

         This stuff was _ancient_ , Paleolithic event. How could it look new? Like whoever made it had lived yesterday, not tens of thousands of years ago.

 

         Matiz shuddered, clutching harder at his phone. What was it Calia always said about gut instinct? It was never wrong? Well, his gut wanted to purge itself all over the floor. Something was wrong, super wrong, and he was beginning to think that it wasn’t from just breaking in.

 

         “Now where did you come from?” he hummed, taking another picture.

 

         “Funny. I was thinking the same thing.” He froze at the new voice. “On your feet. And turn around, slowly.”

 

         “I can explain,” he blurted, doing as he was told. A fox was staring him down, her coffee-black eyes hard, unyielding, as leveled the barrel of a cherry-red shock pistol with his chest. An Interpol badge hung at her throat, shiny and gold. Her glare narrowed further and he hastened to expound. “My name is Matiz. My friend was visiting this museum, like, five days ago and she disappeared. She’s not answering her phone, her emails, or _anything,_ and her neighbors haven’t seen her.” He shook his head. “Something funky is going on here. I’m just trying to figure out what so I can find her.” He glanced at her gun, ears folding. “Please, I’m just trying to get some answers. I’ll leave as soon as I get them.”

 

         The officer continued to glare, but the set of her lips shifted. He lifted an ear, shoulders relaxing. Was she…?

 

         The vixen lowered her weapon, the shock pack on her pistol fading. He grinned, straightening up, tail wagging behind him.

 

         “Don’t look so happy,” she scolded. “I could charge you with contaminating a crime scene.”

 

         “A crime scene?” Matiz echoed. “Are you, like, searching with a warrant or something?” She stiffened. He cocked his head. “Without a warrant maybe?” Her glare returned, red lips pursing. “I’m no tattle-tale. You’re secret is safe with me. Just… don’t put me in jail, please?”

 

         “We’ll see,” she returned. She glanced by his feet, noticing the boxes. “What are those?”

 

         “Oh, I have no idea. New artifacts maybe?” He stepped out of her way as she stepped forward. “They looked important, so-”

 

         “I recognize these,” the fox interrupted, peering into a different crate, full of arrowheads. “These were stolen from a dig site in Mexico not too long ago.” She moved onto another box, scowl deepening. “And these tribal masks belong in Africa.”

 

         “Black market?” Matiz wondered, snapping another picture.

 

         “Yes. But why to this museum?” The wolf shrugged, typing a note into his phone.

 

         “The patron, Cyrille something, was an art thief back in the day,” he offered. “He could have gone back to his roots.”

 

         “Cyrille Le Paradox,” the fox murmured. Matiz nodded; she shook her head. “He specialized in paintings, not historical artifacts. But he’s been clean for years.”

 

         “Looks like someone needs another bath,” he sang. The officer pushed herself to her feet.

 

         “Matiz, right?” He nodded. “Matiz, you really shouldn’t be here,” she sighed, holstering her shock pistol. “And neither should I.”

 

         “Aww, but it’s getting good,” he sulked. “And I still haven’t found any clues to where my friend went,” he added, seriously. “I’m not leaving until I find something.”

 

         “I don’t have time to argue with a civilian!” the vixen hissed. “If you don’t leave, I’ll be forced to-”

 

         A scampering sounded down from the wall, followed by the bark of a muffled order. The two spun around, the officer whipping out her pistol and the journalist hitting record on his phone.

 

         “So…” Matiz drawled. “We gonna check that out?” Without waiting for an answer, he started forward. There was a pause and then the rap of heels following him, thick blue curls appearing in his peripheral.

 

         “Hey, if things get dicey, whose name to I shout?” he whispered.

 

         “Inspector Fox,” she murmured back, taking the lead with her shock pistol. “Carmelita Fox.”

 

         “Got it.”

 

         As they neared the voices, the wolf forced himself to take a calming breath. Calia was safe. She always made she sure was safe, for his sake as much as hers. Most of the time.

 

         He took another breath, tossing his phone from hand to hand to disguise the way they shook.

 

         As soon as he found Calia, he was going to hug her. And cry a bit. And then he was going to stuff her in his backpack and never let her out of his sight again. Or at least until she bribed him with videogame playthroughs and movie marathons.

 

         The noises were getting louder. He shook himself free of his thoughts, lifting his phone. Carmelita tugged him into the shadows of another stack of crates, these once much larger than the small ones they had explored.

 

         And the contents? _Way_ shinier.

 

         “Whoa,” Matiz breathed, zooming in on a massive red jewel, nestled in a pile of gold coins. He swept the camera around, catching several suits of medieval armor, a sabertooth coat, and a pair of mammoth tusks. “That’s a lot of loot.”

 

         “These are black market antiquities. Almost all of them,” Carmelita whispered. “Forged paintings, stolen relics… But why?”

 

         “Like I said.” Matiz aimed his camera at the center of the bustling operation, where a lean figure in a green jumpsuit was directing the troopers. “Someone needs a bath.” He sniffed the air and recoiled. “Figuratively _and_ literally.”

 

         “Wha-?” Carmelita shook her head, bewildered. “Le Paradox? But-”

 

         “But nothing, we gotta get out of here before they see us!” Matiz hissed, grabbing Carmelita’s arm.

 

         “None of this makes sense,” the inspector muttered. “Why would Le Paradox throw everything he has away for crime? He’s an art collector, a billionaire, a benefactor.”

 

         “Uh, I think crime was how he got there,” Matiz deadpanned, still trying to sneak them away. Metaphors about taking the stripes off a criminal but not off a skunk chased around his head. “We need to leave like, right now.” _Calia, I know you’re mixed up with this. Please be ok!_

 

         “Oh, but you’ve just arrived!” For a second time, Matiz was called out by a voice he didn’t recognize, this time a male one with a thick French accent. A spotlight swung around from an upper platform, casting the black wolf and copper fox in harsh light.

 

         _Crap._

 

         “Inspector Fox! Such wonderful timing!” Le Paradox’s gaze drifted over the inspector’s shoulder, lighting up. “And you brought a guest! How considerate of you.”

 

         _Double crap._

 

         Carmelita shook herself free of her surprise, grip tightening on her pistol. She aimed in at the skunk, who only smirked and wagged a finger, like she was a naughty child.

 

         “Ah, ah, ah, _mademoiselle,”_ he tsked. “I would really prefer not to shoot you. It would be such a waste of effort.” Matiz flinched when the rat troopers circling them raised their own, much large weapons. Hissing, the vixen raised her hands, but didn’t drop her pistol.

 

         “I was wondering when you would arrive, _Mademoiselle_ Fox,” the skunk continued, folding his hands behind his back. “Ever since your _petit copain,”_ Carmelita barred her teeth in a snarl,“stole from me and decided to make himself an irritation, I have been waiting for you to follow him, as I knew you would.” He marched across the scaffolding, tail a long plume behind him. “It all works out this way. You will understand your dear thief’s motives for breaking into my museum, _Mademoiselle_ Fox, and I can break his heart by doing away with you. And you, _Monsieur_ Liberato, will have quite the story to tell.” The skunk chuckled. “Not that you’ll get the chance to tell anyone.” Matiz cocked an ear, eyes wide.

 

         “Wait, you know me?” Le Paradox nodded.

 

         “Of course I do, you imbecile,” he smirked. “I make a habit of acquainting myself with those who dig around in my business like a dog through _trash.”_ His air of superiority warped under a flash of hostility, only to be smoothed away. “Now, I’m afraid, no one else will ever know you. You will be forgotten with the passage of time.” He snapped his fingers, a low hum starting behind him. The smell of ozone and lightening filled the air, a glow blossoming behind him. “Such is the way for those who are unimportant, _n’est-ce pas?”_

 

         Matiz opened his mouth. What for, he wasn’t sure- a snappy comeback, or perhaps just to yell. Either way, he had the shocked expression down when the world flashed blue and white. He crashed into something, someone judging from the way it grunted. A slim hand caught his arm and gripped tight as they were thrown through the air. The urge to vomit rose once more, and all he wanted was for the world to _stop._

 

         It did, with all the gentleness of a car crashing into a brick wall. Matiz tumbled over hard, dry earth, grunting when Carmelita crashed into his back. He lay on his churning stomach, ears ringing, nose filled with sand and hot wind.

 

         “Bleh, dusty,” he complained, sticking out his tongue. A shadow loomed over him.

 

         “Oh, don’t worry, _amigos.”_ The word warped under a thick accent, stretched into “am- _eee_ -goes.” Matiz looked up, eyes crossing when he met the barrel of a revolver. Ok, he was getting sick of having guns pointed at him. “You get mighty used to it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I took a different route for this chapter and am quite pleased with how it turned out :)  
> Hope everyone else is too!


	24. Rough and Tumble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: teeny bit of swearing
> 
> Translations:  
> Le Musée d'Histoire et d'Antiquités – The Museum of History and Antiquities (I finally named Le Paradox’s museum)

**Fifteen new messages from Radical Orpheus!**

 

 **Radical Orpheus (five days ago):** biiiiish, what’s up?

 

 **Radical Orpheus (five days ago):** pay attention to meeeee

**Radical Orpheus (five days ago):** how’s ur thing?

 

 **Radical Orpheus (four days ago):** im gonna guess busy because u still haven’t answered me lol

 

 **Radical Orpheus (four days ago):** the nights are so lonely without someone to listen to me ramble D’:

 

 **Radical Orpheus (three days ago):** good morning! evening whatever :D

 

 **Radical Orpheus (three days ago):** -twiddles thumbs- these messages are sending right?

 

 **Radical Orpheus (three days ago):** not gonna lie, getting a little nervous

 

 **Radical Orpheus (three days ago):** u always find a way to answer, consider me spoiled

 

 **Radical Orpheus (three days ago):** u never told me how long u were gonna be gone I WOULD APPRECIATE THIS INFORMATION

 

 **Radical Orpheus (three days ago):** night

**Radical Orpheus (two days ago):** seriously, im worried now

 

 **Radical Orpheus (two days ago):** ANSWER UR MESSAGES

 

 **Radical Orpheus (yesterday):** im coming to Paris my ass is already on the plane don’t try to stop me

 

 **Radical Orpheus (yesterday):** please be ok

 

 

         “Please, be ok,” Calia echoed to herself, setting her laptop to the side. Sly watched her draw her legs to her chest and rest her chin on her knees, the time vortex throwing random flashes of blue across her small form. Sitting against the opposite side of the van, he stretched out a leg, offering contact. The saboteur didn’t notice, lost in her thoughts.

 

         Letting out an inaudible sigh, Sly tipped his head back, casting a sidelong at the sheriff’s badge hovering in the time machine. He had wanted Calia to stay with the Gang, but not like this. Not because she was terrified for her friend and thought the only way to find him was to embark on another dangerous quest through time.

 

         Not even fifteen minutes after walking her to her apartment after landing in Paris, the saboteur had contacted Bentley, asking him to track a phone number she couldn’t track. After some ribbing over his profile picture and her username and comments on how good the _bento_ was, the turtle had revealed that he couldn’t find the phone number either. The only thing he could find was it’s last point of operation.

 

         The museum where the mess had began.

 

         She had called Sly, asking if his offer to join the Cooper Gang still stood. Ten minutes later, she had showed up at the safe house with a polka-dotted duffle bag and an air of desperation, out of breath and shaky at the knees.

 

         “My friend, his name is Matiz, he was helping me with this project, even though I told him not too,” she had explained in a rush. “He came looking for me because I had ‘disappeared.’ I think…” She swallowed. “I think he got mixed up in everything.” She gritted her teeth, ears folded as she dropped her head. “He’s my best friend. My only friend in the passed few years,” she admitted. “I have to find him if he got taken or if he’s hurt or-” She cut herself off, eyes steely when she raised them. “I can stay focused on the missions you send me on, I can help whatever person we need to help, and I can take down whoever needs to be taken down. But I need to come with you guys so I have a _chance_ at finding him. Please.”

 

         Murray and Sly immediately agreed to let her come. Bentley sited her previous and invaluable aid, as much to reassure himself as her that it was a good choice, better than good. The decision was unanimous, the van was packed, and the Gang was one member larger.

 

         Sly sighed again, a little louder, and shifted his gaze back to Calia. She had uncurled to a cross-legged position, though the tension hadn’t left her shoulders. He flexed his foot again, poking her knee. This time, her hand dropped to his ankle.

 

         “I expected him to be at my apartment.” He flicked an ear at her murmur. “And I could tell he had been because my peach salsa was missing and he set up a few recordings on my TV. He wasn’t picking up, and holding grudges isn’t really his thing, so I tracked his phone and couldn’t believe where he was, so I called you guys and…” She shrugged, lips pressed flat. “This is why I don’t like working with other people.”

 

         “Caught in your crosshairs,” Sly recalled. She nodded, grimacing. “…Is it selfish of me to be happy you’re here?” he hedged. Her smile was thin and lasted half a second.

 

         “Just stupid.” Her fingers squeezed, thumb pressing against his anklebone. “Suicidal.” She let go of him and reached for her computer again. “This mess is stickier than I expected it to be. I’m not selfish enough to assume Matiz was taken just because he was involved with me.” The glow of the screen muted the flashes of blue outside. “He was taken because he was poking at the museum’s patron, because he was close to the head of the problem. If this is the precedent our mastermind is setting, there are going to be other people MIA.” When she glanced at him, her blue eyes were hard once more. Shielded. “We know Dimitri is safe. Given his record, I expect him to stay safe. There are only two other people I can think who would be in the most danger.” Sly stared at her before reaching around the passenger seat to grab Bentley.

 

         “Are you listening to this?”

 

         “Intently,” came the succinct answer. The turtle turned around in the seat to watch the two raccoons, eyes round behind his thick glasses. Murray drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, listening with half an ear as he focused on not letting the van capsize or crash.

 

         “Carmelita Montoya Fox,” Calia read. “Detective Inspector under Inspector James Barkley, stationed at the Interpol HQ in Paris, France… Joined the force seven years ago at the age of nineteen…” She clicked her tongue. “She’s been on leave for a while now, approximately three weeks. Says here she’s pursing a case through the underground and recently made a report saying she was getting close to making an arrest…. She requested a warrant to enter the premises of _Le Musée d'Histoire et d'Antiquités_.” Frost curled his chest, a tinge of nervousness clenching his stomach. “Same museum we’ve been messing around with.” She leaned back and crossed her arms over her stomach. “She was supposed to make a report twenty-four hours ago and never did.” Sly sucked in a hissing breath and let it out in short bursts.

 

         “What, you think foul play?” Calia gave a noncommittal hum.

 

         “It’s a possibility. We can’t rule anything out at this point.” She typed in something else, read it, and froze. Her tail swished over the ground in a hard rush before returning to wrap around her folded legs. Sly waited and resisted the urge to bounce his knee.

 

         “…Bentley, did Penelope ever answer the message you left for her?” The turtle’s brow furrowed and he shook his head.

 

         “Dimitri swore he got it to her,” he stated. “But I didn’t get anything back.”

 

         “Well, according to flight records, a one Penelope Hendrina Muis left from _Charles de Gaulle_ airport on a plane headed for Pittsburg International airport in the United States. She’s on the roster for the RC tournament in Sarver, Pennsylvania, USA.” Her gaze flickered to Bentley’s face. “According to the stats, she’s in first for the helicopter obstacles, second in racing, and first for the battle arena. Her stats are impressive. There’s even a video of her RC copter demolishing some targets, among videos of other contestants.”

 

         “That… That’s good!” Bentley glanced to Sly for support, a distressed sort of hope in his eyes. The master thief nodded, ignoring the tickle of something ‘not right.’ He met Murray’s worried gaze in the rearview. “She’s safe, she’s having fun… It’s okay if she isn’t answering me. Her tournament is more important.”

 

         “It would be, if it wasn’t for another month.” Calia’s expression was neutral, but a flicker of shared anguish danced through her eyes. “Penelope Muis is not in the USA and she’s not competing in an RC tournament.” She closed her laptop with a snap, returning it to her duffle. “But someone _really_ wants you to think she is.”

 

         Sly rubbed his hand over his mouth, amber eyes fixed on a random point. Calia’s friend was missing, Carmelita was missing, Penelope was most likely missing. His ear flicked, a detail sliding into place.

 

         “Penelope left almost three weeks ago.” The vortex crackled around them, humming with energy. The master thief ran a hand over the crook of his cane before glancing up once more.

 

         “Bentley?” he prompted, voice soft. He tilted his head at his brother. “What do you think we should do?”

 

         Bentley faced forward once more, removing his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. Murray watched him out of the corner of his eye. Sly waited, patient and impatient all at once. The decision to make wouldn’t be an easy one.

 

         “…Calia’s right,” the turtle sighed. He drew himself up, staring ahead. If he hadn’t been clutching his armrest in a death grip, Sly would have said he was calm. “The best way to complete our objectives, saving your history and our loved ones, is by maintaining our current course of action. We keep time travelling until we find them. From here on out, we can’t entertain distractions. We need to be twice as focused and twice as prepared.”

 

         “Well, prep quick because here we go!” Murray drew their attention to the circle of white they were approaching, the time machine giving an excited trill. The van hit the intangible barrier with a shudder. Sly resisted the urge to grit his teeth as vibrations tore through them in great pulsing waves, like thunder inside their bones. Smears of color appeared in the blue tunnel: gold, orange, copper, brown, red. There was a brilliant flash, like lightning exploding before their eyes, and the landscape appeared in the aftermath. The van found solid ground and skidded to a stop in a cloud of dust.

 

         Anjuu Village had been lush and green with thick foliage. Birds had chattered among the rush of babbling water and creaking wood. The silver light was dim from rainclouds and the rising valley walls, like some sort of dream.

 

         Cotton Mouth Bluff was its complete opposite.

 

         Sand stretched for miles, interrupted only by the stray cactus or desiccated skeletons. It was gritty desert sand, too, the kind that wouldn’t hesitate to filter through fur and scrub against skin, getting into eyes and mouths to absorb whatever moisture it could find. The only sound was the mournful wind, hissing across the dry earth. The sun, high and white-yellow in the pale sky, was blisteringly hot, its light stark and blinding. Sly rubbed at his already watering eyes as he stepped out of the van, resting a hand on the door. At least his mask was black; it would draw most of the light.

 

         “Cotton Mouth Bluff,” Sly announced with a grand wave of his arm. “Boom town of 1884 in the American Old West.” He paused, thoughtful. “Is it the New West here? Or just the West?”

 

         “Whatever it is, it isn’t worth the headache,” Bentley retorted, lifting a hand to shield his eyes.

 

         “Oh goodness, that is bright.” Sly chuckled as Calia stumbled out of the van, pressing her palms to her face. She risked pulling them away and cringed, squeezing her eyes shut. Tears beaded along her eyelashes, glistening when she chanced squinting.

 

         “Here.” Sly reached into his thigh pouch and pulled out an extra mask, holding it out. “This will help.”

 

         “Blue eyes, white fur,” she sighed, taking it and tying it into place. The charcoal-black fabric was stark against her pelt. “How has the Calia-gene made it this far?”

 

         “At least you’ll stay cooler in this heat.” Already, Sly was starting to swelter and vowed to change his sweater out for a lighter fabric as soon as possible. Too bad he couldn’t do the same for his fur.

 

         “Ah!” Bentley snapped his fingers before rummaging through a compartment in his wheelchair. “Thanks for reminding me. We need to make sure everyone is properly equipped. Calia.” He rolled forward, something cradled in his lap. “You’re going to need one of these,” he handed her a binocucom, “and one of these, if you feel like wearing it.” He pressed a silver raccoon pin into her palm, a match to the gold ones adorning Sly and Murray’s belts.

 

         “You don’t have to wear it,” Sly protested hastily. But Calia, the binocucom already fastened at her hip, was affixing the pin to her belt, just inside her hip. It gave a cheery wink.

 

         “I like it.”

 

         Sly blamed his pleased flush on the sun.

 

         “Here, Sly.” The master thief accepted the number of small canisters the turtle handed him, each half the size of a lipstick tube. “Smoke bombs, in case you need quick cover. The daylight puts us at a disadvantage.” He nodded and clipped a few to his belt, stashing the others in his thigh pouch.

 

         “Now, we need to move quickly,” Bentley continued, clapping his hands together. “Murray and I will establish a safe house while you two work on reconning the area. From what I can see of the town,” he gestured to the hazy buildings stacked along a bluff, “the clock tower looks like out best bet- it’s been rundown and abandoned for yeras. If things change, we’ll contact you.”

 

         “Sounds like a plan to me,” Calia hummed, hand on her hip.

 

         “Go team?” Murray offered, holding out his hand, palm down. Sly beamed and laid his hand over the hippo’s. Bentley’s hand followed and then Calia, after a glance at the turtle. He nodded his encouragement and she settled her palm over his, standing between him and Sly. She smiled at them, fond and excited and worried all at once.

 

         “Go team,” she repeated. Now Sly couldn’t have blamed the sun if he wanted to.

 

         “We’ll meet you at the clock tower in a few hours, unless something else goes down,” he said, twirling his cane and walking backwards. “Ya know. Stampede. Gold rush. Runaway trains.” Bentley rolled his eyes.

 

         “Just get out of here,” he groaned. Snickering, Sly gestured to Calia, and the two set out for the town.

 

         Tennessee Cooper had described Cotton Mouth Bluff as _“quieter than a dancehall after a hoedown.”_ The gunslinger tolerated being there, if only for a rest every now and then.Its sister city to the east was where the bank he wanted to rob was located, and steamboats could be found up and down the river cutting passed the town, with money-carrying stagecoaches using it and other small towns as rest points.

 

         The buildings were all wooden, sporting colorful façades to entice people inside. The roads laced between them were dirty, packed hard by feet and wagon wheels. A railway looped the town, crossing the bridge over the river below. The station was small, recently made, enforced with more steel beams than wood, a clear sign of help from the future. The train itself, spewing black smoke, looked more appropriate to the nineteenth century.

 

         Sly took a picture of it as it rumbled by, turning away from the rush of hot air and fumes. A paper fluttered in the wake, twirling on the wind. The master thief snatched it out of the air, frowning and holding it out for Calia to see.

 

         The first picture emblazoned on its front was easy to recognized: the raccoon wearing a bowler and a rakish grin, a matchstick tucked in the corner of his mouth and rifled raised, was no doubt Tennessee Kid Cooper.

 

         The second picture was a little more difficult to identify: it was of a lean raccoon-ness, curly hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, a half-jacket slung over her shoulders. They couldn’t see her face, half of it covered with a bandana, but they could see a small scar reaching up into her hairline from her cheek. She, too, wielded a gun: a set of revolvers, barrels still smoking.

 

         “‘Wanted,’” Calia read. “‘Dead or Alive for Bank Robbery: Tennessee ‘Kid’ Cooper and Catherine ‘Red’ Cooper. Five thousand dollar reward.’” She looked up. “Who’s Catherine Cooper?”

 

         “Not sure,” Sly said, folding the paper and tucking it away. “But I imagine that we’re gong to find out.”

 

         The two continued on, occasionally straying from each other to explore. The town sprawled around them, a number of people wandering the streets. Upon ducking behind a barn for cover, they discovered a large poster, pasted to the side. The glue was only half dry, but the picture was clear for all to see.

 

         And it was very, _very_ ugly.

 

         “This is Sheriff Toothpick?” Calia made a face. “I’m sorry but if I looked like him, I wouldn’t be putting up posters of myself.”

 

         “Oh, I’m sure he has a ‘winning’ personality.” Sly picked at the sign’s edge, debating whether or not he should rip it down when something glinted out of the corner of his eye.

 

         Paint cans.

 

         “Someone is just _begging_ me to do this.” He reached for an open can and a brush, dipping it in. The paint was cream colored, perfect for whiting-out the majority of the drawing. “Just like junior high.”

 

         “What are you doing?” she hissed. Sly snickered, sweeping the brush in broad strokes. Perfect. Now, for the black paint. And a moustache. Buckteeth. He added googly eyes and an arrow through the hat.

 

         “Improving the artwork,” he hummed, scribbling out the ‘STRONG’ at the base of the portrait and writing ‘WRONG’ in its place. He admired his work before turning to the astounded saboteur. “Let’s keep going.”

 

         They did, pausing so Sly could defile more posters on the way. Calia went from discouraging him to pointing out the ones he missed. Finally, each sign properly vandalized, they settled on a roof to take pictures of the prison, set above the town on a canyon ledge.

 

         “What part of focused went straight over your head?” she sighed, more curious than upset. Sly lifted a shoulder, going through the pictures he had taken and sending them to Bentley. Hopefully, they would garner a few laughs from his worried teammates.

 

         “I am focused. Focused on keeping everyone sane when they’re trying not to freak out.” He pocketed his binocucom and stood. “C’mon, loosen up a little,” he coaxed. He threw out his arms. “Have some fun!”

 

         “I don’t have fun on missions.” Her reply was short and unhappy, and she left his side to take a picture of Toothpick’s office.

 

         “You need to,” he hummed.

 

         “Yeah, well, what I do, I don’t do for fun,” she retorted, a harder edge to her voice. He eyed her tense back, the snap of her tail.

 

         “…But you aren’t doing what you usually do,” he reminded her. She stiffened further before sagging. Sly started at the abrupt change, at the way she hung her head and wilted like all the energy had gone out from her.

 

         “I always have to do what I usually do.” She heaved a sigh like it weighed a ton. “I don’t have a choice.” She took a deep breath and lifted her chin, giving herself a brisk shake. “I’m used to it. I’ll be fine.”

 

         Sly didn’t want her to be fine. He wanted her to be happy, to not feel the weight of whatever burden she carried. He wanted her to laugh and be carefree, even if she was surrounded by danger. A life spent afraid wasn’t a life at all, as his dad had said.

 

         “Hey,” he hummed. She turned to him, every line of her body speaking of a bone-deep exhaustion. He gestured to the office they were inspecting. “Bet I can take the lollipop off his desk.” Calia sighed and shook her head. The exhaustion eased to weariness.

 

         “You’re incorrigible.” She pursed her lips, cocking her head. “If _I_ steal it, can we make it through the rest of the day without pranks?” He chuckled.

 

         “It’s a deal.” Calia rolled her eyes, swing her legs over the billboard they were ducked behind. The smile she aimed over her shoulder wasn’t as forced as he expected it to be.

 

         “You remind me a lot of Matiz.” Before he could ask her what she meant, she was leaping to the other building, body going translucent. She landed on the porch with a lightpat, peeking around for any threats. Sidling closer, on constant alert, she eased through the open window, whisked the candy from the desk, and slipped away. Sly stifled his laughter, ducking down behind the sign. She joined him, brandishing the lollipop, reappearing with a giggle.

 

         “Ok, it was kinda fun,” she admitted, unwrapping the candy and taking an experimental lick. She recoiled, shaking her head. _“Yuck!_ It tastes like rice and beans!”

 

         “Gross,” Sly agreed, taking it when she handed it to him. “Murray will eat it,” he promised, rewrapping it and tucking it into his backpack. “Your efforts won’t have been in vain.”

 

         _“I sure hope none of your efforts have been in vain.”_

 

         “Bentley!” he cheered. “Good of you to join us. Do we have a safe house?”

 

         “ _We do. Murray’s finishing his sweep right now, but we’ve got bigger problems right now. Sly, they’re rigging a noose for Tennessee. He’s slated to hang by sunrise,”_ Bentley reported. _“We don’t have time for a complicated plan. You need to get into the prison as fast as you can, break him out, and get to safety.”_ The keyboard of the turtle’s trusty computer clattered while he typed. _“I analyzed the pictures of the prison you sent me. Calia, you can make your way in with your invisibility. Sly, you’re going to have to sneak around the back wall and make your way to the tower where Tennessee is being kept. There structural weakness in the roof, so you should be able to find a way inside.”_

 

         “We’re on it, Bentley,” Calia pledge. The comms shut off, and the two raccoons shared a nod.

 

         “Meet ya there,” Sly said with a wave, and the two made their way to opposite ends of the prison- him to the back and Calia to the front. The master thief shuddered when the massive stone building came into clear view. It squatted against the sandstone walls, clinging like a great stone beast. His memories flicked back to another prison, every wall laced with barbed wire, every corner lit, watchtowers stabbing into the sky. He thought to a small hole, barely big enough for him to lie down, too dark to see his hands. He shuddered again when his hand touched the rough stones of the far tower.

 

         “You won’t be stuck in here much longer,” he promised his ancestor. Sinking his cane into the soft mortar, he started to climb, staying in the shadows. There was a distinct lack of guards on the outer walls, for which Sly was grateful. He made it through the top of the tower and slipped through a hole in the shingles, searching with his toes to find beams and supports. He landed and rolled, the floor much further down than he expected. He stood and dusted himself off.

 

         “Sorry about the landing,” he apologized. “I don’t usually… usually…” He glanced around the room and stopped.

 

         Aside from a chair, a table with a lantern, and an unlocked ball-and-chain, it was empty. A surge of urgency blazed through Sly’s nerves, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

 

         Had Tennessee managed to escape? There were no signs of forking the lock to the cell, the patched walls were all intact, the bars on the window were too small to slip through…. He walked over to them, testing them for looseness. As he did so, he caught a glimpse of the prison’s courtyard, and froze in the stifling heat.

 

         There were no guards elsewhere because they were all gathered for a hanging. Sunrise? No, Toothpick had moved the hanging to sunset.

 

         “Bentley, we’ve got big problems.” The comm crackled with static. “Bentley? You there?” More static. “Bentley, I need you to respond.” Of all the times for tech to fail! Frustrated, Sly paced the room, swinging his cane. Okay, okay, resources. He had a chair, a table, a lantern, a locked door, no way out but through a roof he couldn’t get to, a discarded ball-and-chain…. His swung his cane in a wider arc, striking a wall. The bricks shifted under the blow, bits of light peeking through the cracks.

 

         The proverbial lightbulb went off.

 

         Sly lunged for the heavy ball-and-chain, rolling it to the wall. He switched on his comm again.

 

         “Calia, please tell me you can hear this.”

 

         _“Loud and clear. Bentley’s not answering me either, if you were wondering. We’re on our own.”_ There was a rustling sound, like fabric. _“Did you see the courtyard?”_

 

         “Yeah, I’m doing what I can to get there now.”

 

         _“Ok, I’ve kinda got a plan.”_ More fabric sounds. The comm scraped against something, Calia’s voice going muffled. _“Just before they drop Tennessee, throw a smoke bomb and grab him. Follow me once you get him. I’ll clear a path for you to get in through the courtyard doors. There’s a storage room just to the left.”_

 

         “No offense, but if he’s in chains, it’ll be kind of impossible.” He risked a glance through the window just in time to see them marching a figure in. He picked up the chain and swung. The ball crashed into the wall.

 

         _“I’ll get him the key. You just be ready with those smoke bombs.”_ And Sly was alone once more. He slammed the metal ball into the crumbly wall, rolling it back. Again. The wall finally bowed out, several bricks clattering to the ground. A third time and it gave away in a shower of powder. Waving a hand, the master thief darted out, making for the prison courtyard, looking for some way, _any_ way, to stop his ancestor from taking the swing. He huddled in the shadows, frantic when he saw a vulture undertaker measure Tennessee for a casket. His shoulders were slumped, but his green and hazel eyes burned with a hot rage as he glared at the “sheriff.”

 

         “Any last words, Kid?” Toothpick cackled, lounging in a chair set above the courtyard. Short with bandy legs and washed out eyes, something about him screamed danger, unhinged.

 

         “Go to hell, ya bastard! And take your friends with ya!” the gunslinger shouted back, struggling briefly against the guards holding him. The armadillo just yawned broadly, waving his gun.

 

         “Let’s get this show on the road,” he drawled. A coyote stepped forward with a length of rope, and Sly’s heart seized.

 

         A shine from the entrance caught his eye. A murmur went up in the crowd of guards, their numbers parting to let someone through. Toothpick’s grin faltered, shrinking as Calia walked to the gallows with a steady, unhurried gait.

 

         Sly’s mind stalled.

 

         Calia. In the prison, hands folded and perfectly serene. Making her way up to the steps to stand next to Tennessee.

 

         Dressed like a nun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I am SO SO SORRY I missed updating last week. School started for me again and then people were getting sick and I was way stressed. I literally spent all of the last update day sleeping.
> 
> I'm not super confident on this chapter, but I really didn't feel like missing another update (even though I'm posting this super late and it's practically tomorrow already). I hope you guys enjoy it anyway.


	25. Author's Note

I'm going to start with an apology.

I'm sorry updates have been infrequent/at odd times/not happening at all. School is so much busier than I thought it would be. Most days, even when I have the time to write, I just fall asleep. It's very much a "the mind is strong but the body is weak" case scenario. I'm still working on this story and I have absolutely ZERO intentions of abandoning it any time soon, but I just can't keep up a regular update schedule. It sucks the desire to keep working right out of me, especially when I'm staying up at odd hours desperate to finish something. I don't do my best work then, and I don't want to give you guys anything less than my all when I post.

So, while it may appear that this story is on hiatus, trust me, it's not. I'm backstage, working on chapters, writing ahead; I'm almost never not working on some part of this. I just need time to get quality work done instead of the mediocre bullshit I've been churning out.

If you see me updating/starting other things, please don't be mad. This is a really long story, and sometimes I do get tired of writing the same fandom. Smaller things (one-shots, short stories, even slightly longer stories) give me a chance to refresh and hone my skills elsewhere. It's a recharge so when I come back to this, I'm ready to go.

Again, I'm sorry I couldn't keep with a regular schedule. I'm sorry I couldn't update. I hope you guys will stick with me and my story, and that I get some of my energy back.

Until then, guys.

a_bowl_of_peaches


	26. It's About Time We Got Outta Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: brief mention of a wound/blood, near death experience, mild violence, teeny bit of swearing at the very end
> 
> Translations: (none, carry on)

         _‘Oh, I’m so going to hell. If there was even a_ question _about it before, there isn’t now,’_ Calia thought, ascending the creaky steps. She had found the habit and robe discarded in some boxes and hastily threw it on over her normal gear, grateful for forgoing her binder.

         She stumbled a little on the steps, muttering a quick ‘thank you’ when a jackalope steadied her. Every eye in the prison was focused on her, from Sheriff Toothpick to the guards to its number one prisoner. It didn’t take much imagining to brown fur to gray and switch the green in his eyes to amber. A tiny shiver rocked through her.

         ‘ _No, no,’_ she chided herself, giving her head a shake. ‘ _Focus.’_

         She was accustomed to working alone. All this worry for other people, people she cared more deeply for with each day, was starting to give her an ulcer.

         “I’m here to give this man his last rites,” she declared when she had stopped next to Tennessee, her hands clasped. The steers holding him removed their hats out of respect, eyeing their boss when he failed to do so.

         “I didn’t send for no nuns,” Toothpick scowled, leaning forward in his chair. His nubby teeth were a dull yellow, crooked as he was. “Get this broad out of here!” he ordered, waving one of his pistols. Some of the nearby wardens shuffled their feet, but made no move to take her. The curious murmur in the crowd thickened, buzzing less like flies and more like bees.

         “Let the little lady do her part!” someone shouted. A chorus of agreement followed it, swelling and dying down when Toothpick glared.

         “Please, it won’t take long,” she promised. _‘Just long enough for Sly to get into position.’_ The armadillo’s beady eyes scanned the courtyard, his thin tongue wetting his thinner lips.

         “Fine!” he barked, slouching back. “Make it quick!”

         Bobbing her head, Calia turned to face Tennessee. His guards gave a respectful step back, making sure to block the steps. The raccoon’s face tightened, a shadow passing over his eyes.

         “Thank ya for comin’, sister,” Tennessee murmured to her. His voice was an easy tenor, tuneful and sweet with his Southern twang. “But I’m afraid I’m not much of a prayin’ man.”

         “At least let me say one for you,” she pleaded. He heaved a sigh and nodded, dropping to his knees, eyes fixed on her feet. She took his shackled hands, pressing them together. They trembled between hers. She leaned in close.

         “I need you to listen to me very carefully,” she breathed. He twitched, ears lifting. “My friend and I are going to get you out of here.” She slipped the key she had snatched from one of the jackalope guards between his palms. “Before they can drop you, there’s going to be a cloud of smoke. My friend is going to grab you and lead you to a side room, near the courtyard doors. I’ll meet you two there once I’ve led the guards away. Got it?”

         “…Miss, I don’t have much of a choice, now do I?” His hazel-green eyes sparked with rekindled hope and she smiled. Then she crossed him (that was how these things worked, right?) and helped him back to his feet.

         “Yes, yes, let’s get this over with,” Toothpick grumbled from his seat. The noose was slipped over Tennessee’s neck and yanked tight, tearing a choked gasp from the gunslinger’s throat. His eyes darted to the “nun,” standing nearby, lips moving silently, one hand straying to her ear. A shadow moved out of the corner of his vision, black as sin, but he didn’t dare look at it lest he draw the attention of the guards.

         He was positioned over the trapdoor. His heart gave a hard thump, sweat beading across his palms. The coyote seized the lever and turned to Toothpick, waiting for the signal. His ears rang, each sound intensely sharp, from the rasp of his own breathing to the shuffle of the guard’s feet. The armadillo dithered, quaking with raspy giggles. Tennessee closed his eyes and thought of red curls and green eyes in a heart-shaped face.

         _‘Oh, Cat, I’m sorry for everything.’_

         Toothpick waved a hand. The lever creaked. Tennessee dropped an inch when the air filled with smoke and something knocked him backwards, a hand seizing his shoulder. The noose pulled tight, only to be hacked through by something shining and golden. The gunslinger almost stumbled over his own chains before he remembered to unlock them, twisting the key into the lock at his ankles and then his wrist. The smoke thinned, thickened again, and a hand seized his arm, urging him to his feet.

         “Get him, get him, _GET HIM!”_ Toothpick chanted, voice shrill and screaming. Several gunshots rang out and Tennessee grabbed at his savior, fingers tangling in blue fabric to pull them out of the way. Chaos ruled around him, steers bellowing and coyotes yelping. A bubble of ice surrounded them, snatching every last bit of heat, but it pushed the guards away like a barrier.

         “Since when can you do that?” Sly whispered to Calia, voice tight with controlled glee. He saw the corner of her grin, a baring of sharp teeth. Tennessee’s ears swiveled in shock, a breathy “lordy” escaping him, fingers tight on his bicep.

         “Since always. I’ll meet up with you in a little bit!” She sprinted ahead while Sly pulled Tennessee into the side room. Guards rushed passed, shouting about the false nun. Already there was gunfire, but he didn’t doubt for a second that she had gotten away to somewhere relatively safe. He smiled to himself- her plan may have been risky, but it worked better than anything he could have put together.

         Now, if only Bentley would answer them….

         Sidling away from the door, the two raccoons moved deeper into the room, taking refuge among the crates and boxes. Sly swiped away a palmful of dust, scowling at the all too familiar red insignia. He pulled out his binocucom to take a quick picture when a faint noise drifted through the air, indistinct but growing louder. He turned, eyebrow raised.

         Tennessee was sitting on a crate, head in his hands, shoulders shaking. At first, Sly thought he was sobbing, his composure shattering under the weight of reality. The man had almost hung; he’d been in this prison for who knew how long. He couldn’t find it in himself to blame his ancestor for breaking down.

         And yet….

         Tennessee tipped his head back, grinning, eyes crinkled shut. Laughter spilled from him in waves, sweet and high. He slapped a palm to his knee, shaking with giggles, and swiped the tears from his cheeks.

         “I just got my whole life laid out in front of me,” the gunslinger chuckled, seeing Sly’s wide eyes. He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, trembling with more than just laughter. “I was about to go see my daddy and granddaddy and my _great-_ granddaddy.” He blew out a hard breath, lowering his hands. His green and hazel eyes were almost feverish in their intensity. “Hoowee, what a day!” He let out another bark of laughter, running a hand through his wild hair. “I can’t get Ol’ Toothpick’s ugly face outta my head. I ain’t never seen someone so spittin’ mad. Looked fit to bust right out of his skin.”

         Sly’s lips twitched and he shook his head, letting out an amused sigh. He glanced at the door, pleased no one had overheard Tennessee. It would only be a matter of time before someone check the room thought. He could feel it, like sand grains slipping through his fingers.

         “Ya ticked Ol’ Toothpick off pretty good with that stunt ya pulled.” He glanced over to find Tennessee standing, looking him up and down approvingly. Sly couldn’t stop the unfurling of pride and pleasure in his chest. “I like that,” his ancestor drawled. “Ya gotta name?”

         “It’s Sly,” the gray raccoon answered, raising his cane as a shadow flickered near the doorway. “Sly Cooper.”

         Hands seized his collar and _wham!_ slammed him against the nearest crate, nearly knocking it over. He coughed at the unexpected pressure around his throat, struggling to find the ground with his toes.

         “Now, son,” Tennessee ground out, face inches away. The green in his eyes burned. “Ya should know I don’t take kindly to folks funnin’ on my family name.” He glared, tail bristling. Sly’s eyes darted to the noose, still looped around ancestor’s neck, for a brief second. “Even if they just saved my hide.”

         “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Sly held up a hand in surrender, the other clutching one of the gunslinger’s wrists. This outburst was a far cry from Rioichi’s calm acceptance. “I’m not joking! I can explain.”

         “Talk ain’t worth spit, boy!” Tennessee snapped. He pinned his ears, a growl rumbling low in his chest. “I’ve got half a mind to throw ya back to them guards for sayin’ what ya did.”

         “Now, now, boys.” Both men turned as the shadow made itself known. Calia slipped inside, something black and white draped over her arm. She set a canvas sack down near her feet. “Let’s behave ourselves, shall we?”

         “He started it,” Sly wheezed, stretching up on his tiptoes so he could breathe.

         “I’m ending it,” the saboteur said, tucking the clothes away into her pack. Her blue eyes shifted to Tennessee. “You can let your grandson go now.” The gunslinger stiffened at her words, ears snapping up.

         “My _what_?”

         “Your grandson, give or take five or so greats. A Cooper,” Calia insisted. Tennessee’s hands relaxed a fraction, his hazel-green eyes slipping to the raccoon-ness. She put a hand on her hip, raising an eyebrow. The gunslinger hesitated a moment longer, then set Sly back on his feet.

         “You better prove her true, boy,” he muttered. “And ya can start by bustin’ us outta here!” he added sharply.

         “Right,” he replied. The pride he had felt before curled into a stiff knot of dread. He hadn’t felt so much pressure since he was a teenager, but he shoved it away.

         “Actually, I’ve already got something in the works.” Calia stepped forward, shaking out the bundle of black and white- prison clothes.

         “Oh?” Sly wondered.

         “Mmhmm. We’re going to confuse the hell out of them,” Calia purred. It was a noise he had yet to hear her make, and it made his ears tingle. “Sly, put these on and rub yourself down with some dirt.” The master thief gave her a curious look, but did as he was told, retreating behind some crates. Pulling the uniform over his clothes, he bent, scooping up some of the dusty earth from the floor and covering his fur with it. Grey dulled to brown; in the light, it was passable for sandy tan.

         “Well?” He stepped out from behind the crates, holding his arms out. “How do I look?”

         “Like you need a bath, but it’ll work for now,” Calia teased. Her confidence faltered. “At least, I hope it will. We’re running pretty blind here without Bentley.” Sly frowned, the seed of worry shooting thick roots into his gut.

         “Let me try again,” he offered, lifting a hand to his ear. The static crackled. “Bentley?” No answer. Carmelita and Penelope’s faces seared through his mind; Matiz’s named chased after them. “Bentley,” he sang. “Now would be a good time to pick up.” The static continued, undisturbed. “Nothing,” he sighed when Calia looked to him.

         “Boy, what’d ya just do?” Tennessee stared at him with wide eyes, rocking back on his heels. “Ain’t no one for you to talk to.”

         “Oh, uh, I’ve got this thing in my ear. It let’s me talk to my friends,” he explained. “Most of the time,” he added under his breath.

         “Well, ya can talk to your invisible friends later,” the gunslinger dismissed. He clapped his hands together, fangs winking in the light of the setting sun. “We got ourselves a jailbreak!”

 

**~***~**

 

         “ _We’re on it, Bentley,”_ Calia promised. The turtle nodded to himself and pulled up some of the pictures Sly had sent him of the defaced posters. While amusing in its own right, they also revealed the identity of their newest target, and something about him seemed to familiar to be coincidental.

         “Hey, Bentley?” Murray tromped into the room and stopped in the middle. The boards squeaked as he rocked forward on his toes, like he still wanted to go forward.

         “Yeah, Murray?” The turtle typed the name ‘Toothpick’ into a search box, frowning at the results. Another criminal from the present, brought back to the past. He was beginning to sense a disturbing trend.

         “Remember how one of the doors was locked and you couldn’t open it, but you said it didn’t matter because setting up shop was more important and it was probably just a stuck hinge anyway?”

         “Uh-huh.” According the articles, Andrei “Toothpick” Kovac was a two-bit gangster from Eastern Europe in the present day. A photograph put him most recently in Paris, seen leaving an airport in an unidentified black limousine. He had almost been caught just last year stealing gold in Switzerland, adding another outstanding warrant to the four he already had. All of them had to do with gold theft.

         “I broke it down, like you told me to do, because you were getting all fidgety because Sly was messing with posters and you really hate it when he deviates from a plan, not that we really had one… Anyway, I broke down the door.” The hippo stopped again.

         “Yeah?” He scrolled down the article, rubbing his chin. Toothpick had been obsessed with American Western culture since he was a child. Even his pattern of speech in interrogations reminded Bentley of black and white cowboy films. Diagnosed with extreme aggression, the armadillo claimed himself to be a “gunslinger”; newspapers labeled him a “loose cannon.” Bentley’s frown deepened. More like a delusional psychopath.

         Honestly, where was this guy finding these people? Ruthless, unremorseful, having no qualms in trying to destroy others.

         And Penelope was caught up with them.

         “So I broke down the door-”

         “You said you broke down the door three times now, Murray,” Bentley sighed, unable to keep the edge of his voice. He saved the articles on Toothpick and switched to the security cameras in the prison, toggling between them.

         “And uh, well…” Something in Murray’s voice was off, and it finally clicked with the turtle. He turned, poised to ask a question, and startled to a stop. Murray offered a sheepish shrug. “There was kinda already someone in there.”

         A raccoon stood behind Murray, keeping the muzzle of a gun buried in the hippo’s flank. A shot there would blow through his ribs, lodging itself in his lung if he was lucky, passing into his heart if he was unlucky. Bentley felt his shoulders tightened as he gripped the wheels of his chair, dissecting this newest threat.

         Native to the times. Scuffed boots and jeans: accustomed to travel. Red hair, green eyes, stature of approximately five feet and six inches. Rosy-brown fur, darker brown tail rings (five) and mask: raccoon. The line of her jaw and the shape of her ears reminded him of Sly; another of the master thief’s ancestors then. Two holsters, two guns, both on target. Six-chamber revolvers. Bloodstain on lower right side, between the hip and waist. Shivering indicated a chill in eighty-nine degree heat and presence of sweat, suggesting fever. Diagnosis: infection, mostly gunshot wound.

         He could use this.

         “…Hi,” he hedged. He wheeled forward an inch. The gun rose from his chest to between his eyes.

         “Not another move, turtle.” He raised his hands in supplication.

         “I’ll stay right here then.” He tilted his head, gaze flitting to the gun in Murray’s side. “Do you mind moving that?”

         “I do actually,” she retorted. “Now, who are ya? What are ya doing here?”

         “Well, my name is Bentley, and Murray is standing next to you.” Her eyes flicked between the too. Murray risked a small wave, and something in her gaze softened. Bentley would have relaxed too if it weren’t for the angle of the guns. “There are two more of us, out in town.” And oh, if he could only get an SOS out to them; Sly was the smooth talker, not him. “And we’re here to help Tennessee Cooper.”

         “Thanks for the concern, stranger, but I don’t need no help bustin’ him outta that prison,” she snapped, glaring.

         “Really?” He let his gaze drop to her side. “It looks like you might.” She bristled, half-turning to hide the injury.

         “You mind your business, boy, and I’ll mind mine.” She gestured to the door with the gun aimed at him. “I want y’all to get. Ya got ten minutes to get out before I drill the both of ya full of holes.”

         “What about Tennessee?” Bentley prompted, resting his tired arms on his armrests. “I thought you wanted to help him. You don’t have much more time; he’s going to hang by sunrise.”

         “Plenty of time,” she growled. “You’re talkin’ to the best shooter this side of the Mississippi, and my man is the best thief there is. Ain’t no one gonna keep him locked up long.”

         “Yeah, because they’ll kill him before he can get out,” Bentley pressed. Some of the color drained from her face, even as her eyes blazed. Murray shot the turtle a worried look, twisting his hands together.

         _“Bentley.”_ The laptop flickered as Calia’s voice rang out, drawing their attention. A new screen opened when she activated her binocucom, centering it on a fuzzy figure. _“Now would be a really good time for one of your plans. They’re going to hang Tennessee_ right now.”The camera focused, image sharpening. There was a wooden scaffold, a swinging rope, and a tense raccoon, standing before it. All Bentley could make out of him was his tail, onyx and sandy brown, twisting and lashing in a fit. _“Hello? Bentley?”_ She hissed a curse a beat later and signed off.Another feed opened up, recording the communications Calia had started with Sly. The video froze, fixed on Tennessee, before blinking off. Calia had shut off her binocucom.

         Silence.

         “…Like I said.” The raccoon twitched, face blank. Both revolvers trembled. “They aren’t going to keep him alive for long. So, can we help yoo _omigosh!”_

         The young woman fainted, knees buckling, revolvers falling to the floor from her lax hands. In some stroke of luck, neither went off. Murray spun around, hands finding her back and under her legs. Her weight was meager at best, burning heat seeping through her clothes.

         “What happened?” He lifted her up easily, minding her tail.

         “She’s sick, Murray,” Bentley explained, letting out a relieved breath now that the threat had, for the time, passed. “I think she has an infection, on her side.”

         The hippo eased the raccoon onto the couch, careful of her injury. She made a low noise, eyes flickering halfway open. They were glazed, dull with fever. Bentley spun a precise one hundred and eighty degrees, zipping to the van to scramble for the first aid kit.

         Murray picked up the dropped guns, moving to set them on the low table. The young woman put a hand to her head, already coming back to herself. He eyed her, then popped open the chambers to unload the bullets.

         She wasn’t a true danger to them, he knew. There was no malice in her, no anger. Just fear and a strong will to survive. Pursing his lips in consideration, the hippo decided he would have done the same thing in her shoes. They were the ones who had barged in on her temporary shelter, disturbing what looked like much needed rest. The terror she must have felt, hearing him pound at the door…. Her eyes had been steely when he finally made it through, if only to shield the terror behind them.

         He sighed, casting a sympathetic glance at her. She had a hand lodged in her red hair, another moan of pain escaping her. When her eyes roved the room again, they were far clearer, and he hastened to unload the guns.

         There were only two bullets between them.

         “I don’t like killing innocent people, even if they are in my way.” Murray twitched, head snapping up to see the redhead coherent. Green eyes sought his face, then fell to the revolvers, still in his hands. Her lips pressed into a hard line. “But I do what I have to do.”

         “…I understand,” he replied. And he did, of course. How many people had he left in hallways, rooms, secret labs, who knew where else because they had stood between him and escape, stood between him and his family? He’d crushed bone for the sake of Sly and Bentley’s safety. His life, the lives of his loved ones, those came first as much as he would wrestle with it in the aftermath.

         Murray did what he had to do.

         He set down the guns on the side table, the bullets two spots of cold in his hand. He handed them to her and she took them in a blur of a snatch, fingers barely grazing his palm. Her emerald eyes reminded him of a snake, coiled, ready to strike, ready to defend with venom and fang.

         “We really aren’t going to hurt you,” he promised in his gentlest voice. “We’re just trying to help.” She scoffed, turning her head away.

         “Doesn’t matter now.” Her gloves creaked, stretched tight around his knuckles. She didn’t wipe away the tears as they fell. “I could go any ol’ place I wanted but…” She let her head fall back, staring at the ceiling. “Don’t matter now. Ain’t no place I wanna go.” She didn’t blink away her tears and they slipped through her fur. “Not alone.”

         Murray opened his mouth and shut it after a second. There wasn’t any comfort he could offer her.

         But he didn’t think he even needed to….

         _“Bentley? Bentley~.”_ Sly’s voice rang from the speakers, playful and even with an undercurrent of stress. _“Now would be a really good time to pick up.”_ The static crackled when he sighed. _“Nothing.”_

         _“Boy, what’d ya just do?”_ Catherine shot up, almost tumbling off the couch. _“Ain’t no one for you to talk to.”_

         “It’s him,” she breathed. “He… He’s alive.” She was frozen for all of a second, allowing a smile to creep across her lips. “He’s alive!” She leapt to her feet, letting out a raucous yell, and it was so full of life and love that Murray felt like he had just watched a starburst.

         “Hold onto your hats, boys!” She wobbled and he reached out to steady her, easing her back to sit down. She grinned, eyes bright with more than fever. “Catherine Jones and the Tennessee Kid are still in business!”

 

**~***~**

 

         The staccato of gunfire ran as a counterpoint to his running. Panting, stripes of grey streaking through his mask of dusk, Sly ducked through a door, skidding to a stop. Tennessee shoved his weight against the metal door and Calia spun the wheel lock, slamming bars into place.

         “Well… that was fun,” Sly rasped, swiping the sweat from his forehead. The three of them had finally managed to herd the majority of guards into one place without cornering themselves.

         “Won’t hold ‘em long,” Tennessee tsked, hands on his hips. He chewed on the stray matchstick he had found, hazel-green eyes thoughtful. “They got dynamite, ‘n plenty of it. ‘N guns. Big guns.” His expression flattened. “They probably got _my_ gun.”

         “That’s a problem for another time.” Calia rubbed her hands together, turning a slow circle. “But if they have extra dynamite laying around, I’m sure they won’t mind us using it.” Her eyes landed on a line of red barrels against the wall, then strayed to a small alcove in the wall. “Hey, Sly?”

         “Hmm?”

         “Think if we pack enough barrels in that corner, we could blow out the wall?” He eyed it and nodded.

         “Worth a shot.”

         “We get ta blow stuff up?” Tennessee grinned and started for the barrels. “Shoot, I’ll blow anything up at this point. Let’s get to it!”

         The metal door held as they moved the TNT, only giving a jarring rattle every now and then. Sly did his best to ignore it and the swell of angry voices beyond it, shoving one TNT barrel into place and rushing to grab another. Before long, they had a sizable pile of explosives. He couldn’t help but think Bentley would be proud.

         “Fire in the hole!” Tennessee cheered, pitching a lantern among the barrels and throwing himself behind a makeshift barrier of bricks and sandbags. He tucked down into a ball, clapping his palms over his ears, and the other two followed suit.

         There was a beat, then two, then-

         The shockwave traveled through Sly’s teeth and he pressed his hands down harder over his ears. Even so, the explosion had him reeling, staggering to his feet. Tennessee leapt up, leaning over the barrier, grinning at the crumbling bricks.

         “Well how ‘bout that!” He jumped over the pile of bricks, gesturing for them to follow. “Look alive, y’all! We’re home free!”

         They rushed out of the prison just as the metal door buckled with an angry squeal, bending under the force of more dynamite. It burst open minutes later under the force of a second explosion, allowing a rush of guards to flood in.

         Only the three raccoons were gone, leaving a single loop of coarse rope in their wake.

         They sprinted through the dimming town, casting long, wild shadows under the sliver of sun until it disappeared, they along with it. Panting into the chilled desert air, they ducked into the darkness of a building, peering back at the glaring yellow windows of the prison, the gaping hole in the wall glowing orange. Sly smirked at it, brimming with the high of victory, of a tragedy prevented. His ancestor slapped him on the back, fangs glinting in the meager lantern light.

         “I just want ya to know, I _knew_ you was a Cooper the second I laid eyes on ya!” Tennessee’s grin was infectious, full of a warmth and acceptance that soothed some tense little worry in the back of his thoughts.

         “Thanks,” he wheezed, rubbing the sting away. Tennessee winked and turned to Calia.

         “’N you, missy, you were nothin’ short of a miracle!” The saboteur smiled.

         “Please, call me Calia.” She swung a small sack from her shoulders and held it out. “These, I believe, are yours.” Tennessee took the bag with a short laugh, something unnamable dancing across his eyes.

         “My whole life, in one lil’ canvas sack.” He gave himself a brisk shake, ducking into an alley. “Just gimme a sec. I need to get outta these awful things.”

         “Agreed,” Sly huffed, reaching over his head to drag the rough cloth over his head. He shook off as much dust as possible, lifting his hat to scrub a hand through his hair. He kicked out of the pants, wadding up both pieces of clothing to toss to the side and giving himself one last shake.

         At the same time, Tennessee stepped out of the alley, grinning and tossing the prison uniform to the dirt. The spurs on his boots gave quiet jingles, their gold color matched by the loop of bullets around the gunslingers hips and waist. His orange shirt was a little crinkled and he was smoothing his vest with a leather-gloved hand, then reaching up to adjust the tilt of his bowler.

         “Feels good to be back in my work duds. Makes me feel like myself again,” he admitted, a pleased twinkle in his hazel-green eyes as he threw his uniform into the pile with Sly’s. He reached for his belt, pulling out a small carton- cigarettes. “You two smoke?” They shook their heads. He tapped a cigarette free of the carton. “Mind if I do?” Calia gave an uncomfortable shrug and Sly made a face. Tennessee gave a short hum and tucked the roll of tobacco in the corner of his mouth without lighting it. “’S alright. I don’t mind waitin’.” He tucked his thumbs into the loops his jeans. “Where we headed?”

         “Our safe house.” Sly glanced to Calia, who was examining the screen of her binocucom.

         “Bentley uploaded the coordinates before we lost communications.” She clipped the device back to her belt. “It’s that tower on the other side of town.”

         “The Hootenanny clock tower?” Tennessee gave an approving nod. “Safest place in this backwater town, even before Toothpick and his goons showed up.” He set off at a quick trot, grinning over his shoulder. “Feel free to stick around if ya wanna head back to the prison.”

         “Well, someone’s cocky,” Sly commented to Calia when he was out of earshot.

         “Yeah, he is,” the saboteur agreed, amusement playing around her eyes. She elbowed Sly with a smirk before jogging off after him. “Remind you of anyone?”

         “Hey!” He chased after the playful flicker of her tail, her laughter floating back to him. “I resent that!”

         The three moved through the little town as the stars grew brighter and the darkness thickened, avoiding the raucous calls of the guards, the flickering lights inside the buildings. News of Tennessee’s release had already spread, trailed by news of a fake nun. And then there were the complaints lodged by Toothpick himself, regarding the theft of his lollipop and the desecration of his posters. Sly grinned at that, hiding behind a tall stack hay bales, listening to a few of the steers gossip about their boss’s temper.

         Tennessee waved an impatient hand at him once they passed, stepping whisper-soft over the hard earth with only the faintest jingle from his spurs. As he did, something slipped free from his vest pocket in a bright sparkle, drawing Sly’s immediate attention. It was a ring, finely made, crafted from gold with a ring of small diamonds around an oval-cut sapphire. His ears flicked up, a flicker of curiosity running through him.

         “Oh, Tennessee,” Calia called, picking up the piece of jewelry. The gunslinger turned with a curious hum. “You dropped this.”

         “Dropped wha-?” The sandy raccoon sucked in a sharp breath, snatching up the ring and shoving it into a pocket.

         “Thank ya kindly, Miss Calia!” He doffed his hat in too grand of a gesture, his teeth gritted around his cigarette. “I’d appreciate it if ya didn’t mention this.” He put his bowler back on, flushed pink under his fur. “To no one. That goes for ya, too,” he added, nodding to Sly.

         “Is it for Catherine?” the master thief wondered, thinking of Rioichi and Sada. “Is she your wife?” Tennessee blushed a hot red, nearly biting his cigarette in half.

         “Ya ask a lot of questions, boy,” he grumbled. Sly offered a contrite smile, ignoring the urge to point out he had only asked two.

         “Sorry.” The gunslinger grunted, green and hazel eyes narrow.

         “Where’d ya say you were from again?” Sly hummed distractedly, tapping his cane against his thigh.

         “I didn’t.” Tennessee frowned, cocking his head.

         “And how’d ya even know about Cat?”

         “Your wanted poster,” Calia cut in, diffusing the situation. “It had ‘Cooper’ as her surname.” The gunslinger chuckled.

         “Nah, Cat ain’t my wife.” He heaved a sigh. “I’d ask if I thought she’d say ‘yes’.”

         “Well, what makes you think she’ll say ‘no’?” Sly shot back, moving passed his ancestor when the clock tower came into view. Tennessee stopped, staring after him.

         “Why that cheeky son of a bitch.” Calia glanced at him with a raised eyebrow, only to find something like admiration in his eyes. “Ain’t he cockier than a rooster.” She shook her head and followed the master thief.

         “It runs in the family.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wait... could it be? I'm actually updating!?! THE WORLD IS ENDING! -collapses-
> 
> Nah, it's been a lame couple days and I've been too busy to write much of anything. So when I finally got a chance to sit down, I powered through this. I hope y'all enjoy it.
> 
> Also, just a heads up, I'm going to be editing the previous chapters- just messing with format and fixing some typos, nothing major, just an fyi.


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